ORRESPONDENCE 

o  «> 


ONVERSATIONS 


CLYDE  FITCH 


OP  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


Some  Correspondence  and  Six 
Conversations 


Some  Correspondence 

and 

Six  Conversations 


By 
CLYDE  FITCH 


CHICAGO 
HERBERT  S.  STONE  W  COMPANY 

MDCCCC 


COPYRIGHT,   1896,  BY 

STONE  AND  KIMBALL 

NEW  YORK 


TO 

MISS  MINSEY 

HER  NAME  IS  COMFORT,  HER    NAME  IS  TRUE; 
HER  FRIENDS  ADORE  HER,  AND  I  DO  TOO. 


2129418 


Some  Correspondence 


Some  Correspondence 

A  DUOLOGUE 

IN  THE  SHAPE  OF  TWO  LETTERS;  THE 
FIRST  WRITTEN  BY  A  HANDSOME, 
ATTRACTIVE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD, 
BORN  IN  RICHMOND,  VIRGINIA,  IN 
1859,  BUT  FROM  CHILDHOOD  A 
RESIDENT  OF  NEW  YORK;  THE 
SECOND  LETTER  WRITTEN  IN  REPLY 
TO  THE  FIRST  BY  A  NEW  YORK. 

WOMAN,  BORN  somewhere  about  1864, 
CHARMING,  LOVELY,  AND  MARRIED 
BUT  UNHAPPILY. 

NEW  YORK,  FEB.  25th,    1894. 
O  My  Dear^  Dear  Mrs.  Peggy: — 

Have  n't  you  realized  why  you 
have  n't  seen  me  these  last  three 
days?  It  is  because  I  have  seen  no 
one  and  nothing  but  you!  There,  it  is 
out!  And  unless  your  woman's  instinct 
3 


SOME    CORRESPONDENCE 

has  been  very  much  "a-maying"  (I 
could  n't  say  "wool  gathering"  apropos 
of  it)  you  must  have  seen  and  known 
days,  weeks  ago. 

I  Ve  tried  to  go  away.  I  've  chosen 
ever  so  many  routes,  gone  several 
times  to  the  station,  and  twice  even 
bought  a  ticket;  but  while  what  we  poor 
fools  call  our  better  judgment  dragged 
my  very  mortal  body  away  from  town, 
my  heart  full  of  love,  and  heavy 
because  I  feel  you  will  say  for  you  to 
receive  —  or  any  rate  to  return  that 
love,  would  be  wrong, —  my  heart  (and 
God  bless  it!)  held  me  back  fast,  in  the 
place  where  you  see  the  sun  shine,  and 
the  moon  rise.  Can  you  make  head  or 
tail  of  me,  my  darling  Mrs.  Peggy  ? 
which  of  course  I  mustn't  call  you  unless 
you  grant  me  permission  to ;  will  you  ? 

But  to  go  back  not  further  than  yes- 
4 


SOME   CORRESPONDENCE 

terday,  I  had  been  only  two  days  away 
from  you,  yet  having  sworn  to  myself 
the  night  before  that  I  would  n't  go  to 
see  you  in  the  morning,  I  found  I 
could  n't  go  to  sleep  at  all,  because  I 
had  nothing  to  wake  up  for.  And  then 
what  a  day  !  As  if  it  were  n't  enough 
to  have  you  in  my  heart,  I  had  you  "  on 
the  brain,"  too.  Everywhere  I  went  I 
saw  only  Mrs.  Peggy,  and  myriads  of 
her  !  Think  of  myriads  of  Mrs.  Peg- 
gys,  when  there  is  really  only  one  in  the 
whole  wide  world,  only  could  be  one, 
and  she  besides  is  more  than  two-thirds 
heavenly.  When  I  boarded  a  street- 
car it  seemed  to  me  that  Mrs.  Peggy 
rang  the  bell  and  inside  there  were  rows 
and  rows  of  her,  and  every  strap  had 
another  man  than  me  hanging  on  it 
all  down  the  aisle.  Even  at  lunch,  she 
was  with  me,  the  Carte  du  your  was  a 
5 


SOME   CORRESPONDENCE 

la  Peggy.  And  all  my  business  letters 
were  signed  with  her  name  big  and  van- 
ishing. Every  store  I  passed  on  Broad- 
way belonged  to  you,  and  Sarony  had 
no  one  else  pictured  in  his  windows. 
The  violets  the  men  sold  on  23d  street 
smiled  like  your  eyes,  and  lily-of-the- 
valley  tears  hung  sympathetically  for 
me  beside  them.  I  could  n't  stand  it 
any  longer  !  I  glanced  up  at  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel  clock,  —  it  was  Mrs. 
Peggy  minutes  past  Mrs.  Peggy  !  and  I 
came  on  here  to  my  Club  to  make  a 
fool  or  a  beast  or  what  ?  —  of  myself.  I 
have  n't  even  been  able  apparently  to 
make  my  declaration  seriously  !  That  is 
because  of  two  reasons  ;  first,  I  did  n't 
want  to  frighten  you,  or  anger  you,  or 
have  you  laugh  at  me,  either,  I  thought 
it  was  safer  to  invite  you  to  laugh  with 
me ;  and  second,  I  was  afraid  you 
6 


SOME    CORRESPONDENCE 

might  be  less  likely  to  believe  a  serious 
declaration  from  me,  we  have  always 
been  on  such  jolly,  joky  terms,  you  and 
I  (I  love  even  to  write  those  three 
words,  together,  and  I  would  like  to 
join  them  with  an  everlasting  adaman- 
tine little  chain  of  hearts,  which  I  am 
afraid  is  woefully  silly  for  a  great  strong 
man  who  once  had  a  beard,  to  say). 
Perhaps  you  will  be  angry  with  this  let- 
ter anyway,  but  I  have  honestly  tried  to 
take  as  few  liberties  as  possible,  and 
though  some  of  the  adjectives  are  a 
trifle  more  cordial  than  usual,  still  I 
continue  calling  you  "  Mrs.,"  even 
when  I  have  to  put  it  in  afterward  with 
a  caret  for  a  witness  !  But  I  shall  stop 
all  that  —  yes,  I  must ;  it  is  all  too 
trivial.  Besides,  it  is  beating  around 
the  bush.  I  would  rather  beat  against 
the  bars.  The  facts  are  these  —  you 
7 


SOME    CORRESPONDENCE 

are  not  happy.  There  is  no  love  lost — 
ever  to  be  found,  between  you  and 
your  husband ;  this  I  dare  to  write  be- 
cause you  have  confessed  as  much  to 
me.  Why  then  shouldn't  I  at  least 
tell  you  that  /  do  love  you,  —  it  is  a 
necessity  for  me  to  say  it,  or  I  shall  go 
mad  with  its  being  hushed  so  long  into 
silence,  while  I  see  you  starving  of  any 
love,  if  not  for  mine.  And  God  help 
me,  but  I  can  't  help  hoping,  thinking, 
dreaming,  or  what  you  choose  to  call  it, 
that  my  step  coming  has  been  a  pleas- 
ant sound  to  your  ears,  my  hand's  clasp 
welcome  to  your  hand,  my  glances  an- 
swered in  your  deep  sea  eyes.  /  love 
you,  and  that 's  why  I  have  n't  been  to 
see  you !  The  last  time  I  called  I 
could  scarcely  keep  my  lips  from  seeking 
yours,  and  I  long  ago  gave  up  trying  to 
keep  my  thoughts  from  that ;  when  you 
8 


SOME    CORRESPONDENCE 

came  into  the  rooms,  the  flowing 
drapery  of  your  sleeve  brushed  against 
me,  —  it  affected  me  like  an  exquisite 
sweep  of  harp  strings,  it  was  as  if  an 
unseen  paradise  wing  had  blessed  me, 
and  for  a  moment  I  was  quite  dizzy. 
Perhaps  you  will  remember  how  dis- 
tracted I  was  the  whole  afternoon.  I 
recall  two  times  that  you  withdrew  your 
darling  little  slippers  farther  back  under 
your  skirt,  catching  my  satyr  eye  upon 
them.  This  is  only  a  silly  detail,  but  I 
mean  by  it,  —  I  had  to  stay  away  thpse 
three  days  for  which  you  reproach  me. 
Send  me  some  word  !  Are  you  angry 
with  me  ?  Will  you  ever  speak  to  me 
again  ?  Or  are  you  only  disappointed 
with  me,  which  would  be  worse  !  Or 
do  you  —  I  can't  help  it,  I  must  write 
it,  and  for  God's  sake  answer  it,  —  do 
you  love  me  ?  JACK. 

9 


SOME   CORRESPONDENCE 

NOVEMBER  23^  1894. 
Dear  Jack: — 

No,  I  am  not  angry  with  you,  and  I 
will  speak  to  you  the  next  time  you  give 
me  a  sane  chance, — and — I  don't  love 
you.  (Here  there  is  something  scratched 
out,  which  by  holding  to  the  light  one  can 
read)  I  will  confess  that  if  I  were  not 
—  (there  the  sentence  was  broken  and  the 
pen  run  across  it  several  times.  The  letter 
continues} — I  think  now  I've  answered 
yo^ir  principal  questions,  and  I  will  tell 
you  just  what  happened  when  I  received 
your  letter.  First,  —  Dick  brought  it 
to  me,  young  Dick  I  mean,  four  years 
old  to-day  —  didn't  you  just  a  little  for- 
get him  ?  "  O,"  I  said,  as  I  took  the 
envelope,  "  here's  a  letter  from  Uncle 
Jack !  Now  we'll  know  what's  be- 
come of  him  all  this  time."  "  Bully 

10 


SOME    CORRESPONDENCE 

Uncle  Jack ! "  answered  Dick.  (I 
think  the  adjective  was  one  of  your  many 
presents  to  him.)  How  about  that 
"  Uncle  ?  "  do  you  want  to  throw  away 
all  right  to  that  adopted  title  ?  and  don't 
you  want  to  keep  the  adjective  too,  till 
you're  an  old  man,  and  Dickie's  your 
age  now  ?  —  Well,  I  opened  the  letter 
to  read  it,  but  before  I  had  finished 
some  one  came  into  the  room,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life  I  had  a  letter 
in  my  hands  I  was  ashamed  of,  and 
wished  to  hide.  As  soon  as  I  was 
alone,  I  read  it  over  again,  and  tried  to 
laugh  and  think  it  was  a  joke,  and 
almost  looked  for  a  calendar  to  see  if  it 
wasn't  somehow  or  other,  the  first  of 
April.  Then  I  had  a  cup  of  tea,  sent 
word  I  was  to  be  denied  to  everybody, 
and  read  your  letter  for  the  third  time. 
Then  I  did  laugh  honestly,  but  cried 


SOME    CORRESPONDENCE 

too,  and  having  finished  with  a  satisfac- 
tory fit  of  hysterics,  I  felt  better,  and 
cleared  out  and  rearranged  my  dressing- 
table  drawers.  Then  I  began  to  an- 
swer you,  and  this  is  the  sixth  letter 
I've  started  to  write.  I  don't  know  if 
I  shall  send  this  or  not,  which  is  silly  of 
me  to  say,  for,  of  course,  if  you  don't 
get  it,  you'll  know  I  didn't. 

The  trouble  is  every  one  of  the  five 
others  were  all  lies,  and  this  began  with 
a  lie  too,  and  now  I'm  going  to  take  it 
back  !  I  can't  help  what  I've  already 
written,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  the  truth 
now. 

Jack,  I  do  love  you.  But  don't  stop 
here,  be  sure  you  finish  this  letter.  Yes, 
I  do  love  you,  God  help  me  !  (not  God 
forgive  me,  I  do  not  ask  him  to  forgive 
me.  He  knows  that  I  haven't  grown 
to  love  you  of  my  own  accord,  that  it's 

12 


SOME    CORRESPONDENCE 

been  in  spite  of  myself,  that  I've  tried 
with  all  my  strength  of  will  not  to  love 
you.  How  is  it,  I  wonder,  that  the 
only  thing  the  mind  can't  control  is  the 
heart.  It's  true,  you  see  evidences  of 
it  all  about  you.  Your  best  friend 
turns  around  and  marries  the  man  that 
bored  her  to  death  in  the  beginning, — 
and  O,  dear, —  may  again  in  the  end.) 
But  to  go  back,  or  rather  go  on  with 
what  I  have  to  write.  When  Dick's 
father  so  far  forgot  his  boy  and  me,  as 
to  start  a  second  home,  he  killed  my 
love  for  him,  which  had  before  this 
filled  every  nook  and  crevice  of  my 
heart.  Dead,  how  that  love  shrivelled 
up  into  nothing  !  and  as  time  passed  on, 
making  everything  worse  instead  of 
better,  I  put  the  withered  corpse  out  of 
my  heart,  and  swept  the  place  and 
closed  it,  and  vowed  I  would  keep  it 
13 


SOME    CORRESPONDENCE 

empty  and  clean.  It  isn't  empty  any 
longer,  but  you  must  help  me  keep  it 
clean.  Jack,  dear  Jack,  do  you  know 
what  it  is  for  a  woman,  a  young  woman 
who  knows  what  love  is,  who  has  had 
it,  and  lost  it,  and  has  seemed  to  be  liv- 
ing only  under  a  midnight  sun  ever 
since, — suddenly  to  find  herself  warmed, 
inspired,  glorified  under  the  rays  of  a 
golden  noonday  !  all,  with  this  knowl- 
edge that  her  ideal  still  exists,  if  she 
can't  attain  it,  that  she  can  be  loved,  is 
loved,  as  she  can  love,  does  love  in  re- 
turn ?  All  I  can  say  is,  the  joy  is  so 
great,  it  is  worth  bearing  all  the  pain, 
the  pain  that  must  follow.  Think  of 
the  loneliness  of  us  unloved  wives.  For 
the  love  of  husband  and  wife  is  the  most 
precious  thing  in  life.  It  is  the  one 
love  that  takes  precedence  of  all  others  ; 
it  is  the  Emperor.  Children  leave  father 

«4 


SOME    CORRESPONDENCE 

and  mother,  when  their  little  fingers 
grow  big  enough  for  the  golden  circlet ; 
and  so  you  see  that  while  just  now 
Dickie  is  to  me  the  greatest  comfort  and 
joy,  I  cannot  honestly  say  he  fills  the 
empty  space  in  my  heart,  made  for 
another  love  than  his.  In  a  few  short 
years  he  too  will  find  the  same  empty 
spot  in  his  own  heart  and  fill  it  with 
some  good  woman's  love,  I  hope.  And 
THEN  what  a  loneliness  for  me  !  *  *  * 
And  yet  somehow  it  is  largely  the  boy 
that  keeps  me, — that  and  myself.  For 
in  spite  of  all  this  loneliness  (which  I 
doubt  sometimes  if  many  men  can  imag- 
ine) and  which  faces  me,  I  couldn't  go 
away  with  you.  I  know  I  should 
always,  all  my  life,  be  ashamed. 

But  not  trusting  wholly  to  my  emo- 
tions, I  have  reasoned  it  out.     I  have 
taken  up  an  old  visiting  list,  and  there 
15 


SOME    CORRESPONDENCE 

is  Mrs.  X ,  the  first  name  crossed 

out.  She  did  it.  Four  years  ago.  She 
spends  all  her  time  traveling  about 
Europe ;  one  winter  in  Paris,  another 
in  St.  Petersburg,  and  so  on.  Sum- 
mers, people  are  always  meeting  her  at 
Aix,  or  Homburg,  or  somewhere.  She 
hurries  out  of  their  sight,  dreading  to 
have  them  cut  her ;  and  they  say  she  is 
beautiful  and  thin,  and  haggard,  and 
too  highly  colored,  and  always  terror- 
stricken  lest  be  get  tired  of  her !  Poor 
Dolly !  we  were  roommates  at  school 
together,  and  she  always  shared  every- 
thing on  the  thirds  principle — you 
took  two-thirds,  she  one,  and  she 
would  n't  have  it  any  other  way. 

Farther  on  is  another  name  crossed 

out,   Laura    B .     She   came  back 

here,  and   tried  to   fight   it  out  in  the 

Courts,  and  get  possession  of  her  child. 

16 


SOME   CORRESPONDENCE 

And  the  Courts  decided  against  her;  — 
she's  dead,  happy  Laura  !  And  I  found 
a  name,  not  crossed  out,  belonging  to  a 
woman  I  visit  now,  because  J  won't  be- 
lieve ill  of  her.  She  is  one  of  the  most 
unhappy  women  in  New  York,  living 
on  with  her  husband  while  the  world, 
who  whispers  she  deceives  him,  watches 
and  counts  the  hours  she  spends  with 
another.  And  I  stopped  to  think  for 
a  moment  over  another  name,  Mrs. 

D ,  of  52d  Street,  you  know  who 

I  mean ;  I  'm  not  sure  how  much  bet- 
ter her  case  is.  I  knew  her  when  I  was 
a  girl  too,  she  was  married  then,  and 
seemed  the  happiest  and  most  loveable 
woman  in  the  world.  Now  she  's  a 
hard  bitter  one  with  never  a  kind  word 
for  anybody  (only  yesterday  I  heard  she 
said  of  my  sister-u  'aw,  that  she  tried 
so  hard  to  get  into  society,  you  could 
17 


SOME   CORRESPONDENCE 

hear  her  climb!)  Mrs.  D.  has  made 
two  loveless  marriages  for  her  daughters, 
who  might  have  been  unusually  charm- 
ing women,  but  now  are  only  conven- 
tional ones ;  and  for  twenty  years  she 
has  sat  opposite  her  husband  at  the 
table,  gone  out  with  him,  lived  in  his 
house,  entertained  his  friends,  and  never 
spoken  one  word  to  him.  That  must 
be  awful. 

I  want  none  of  these  sort  of  lives, 
Jack.  I  must  make  something  of  mine, 
but  I  must  have  some  love,  too,  some 
happiness,  some  pleasure  in  it.  I  feel 
if  only  we  could  be  just  honest  friends  ! 
If  ONLY  !  Can  we  ?  Can '/  we  ? 

I  know  some  good,  happy  women 
who  look  like  saints,  whose  husbands 
.are  devils,  and  other  women  whose 
husbands  are  devils  and  their  wives  she 
ones,  and  they  look  it.  We  always 
18 


SOME    CORRESPONDENCE 

look  what  we  are,  no  amount  of  mental 
cosmetics  can  keep  it  out  of  our  faces. 
Help  me  to  look  happy  and  good.  (If 
it 's  only  appearances,  you  know  they 
are  a  great  comfort  to  women  ! ) 

Come  and  see  me  soon,  just  as  soon 
as  I  may  have  absolute  trust  in  you, 
and  you  have  it  in  yourself.  I  wonder 
if  I  am  asking  for  an  Ibsen  miracle  ! 

PEGGY. 

She  folded  it,  re-read  it,  sealed  it,  and 
addressed  it.  Then  she  tore  it  into  a 
hundred  pieces,  and  there  was  no 
answer. 


Two  Letters  and  Two  Tele- 
grams. 


Two  Letters  and  Two 
Telegrams. 

I.  LETTER  FROM  BENTON  FOSDICK, 
ESQy  OF  NEW  YORK,  TO  THOMAS 
PLANKTON,  ESQ^,  OF  ALBANY. 
APRIL  2d. 

My  Dear  Old  Tom: — A  very  mo- 
mentous question  —  that's  what  I'm 
going  to  ask  you,  and  I  want  you  to  go 
into  a  corner  of  the  club,  quite  by 
yourself,  with  a  good  big  cigar,  and 
do  n't  dismiss  the  subject  from  your 
mind  till  the  cigar  's  finished.  Do  it 
for  the  sake  of  our  old  college  chum- 
ship. 

There  's  a  girl  I  want  to  marry,  at 
least  I  think  I  do,  in  fact  I  know  I  do. 
23 


TWO   LETTERS   AND 

Shall  I?  That's  the  question.  Of 
course  I  love  her,  or  I  could  n't  feel 
this  way,  could  I  ?  She  's  young,  very 
young,  always  talking  about  her  birth- 
day—  has  just  had  it,  I  mean,  or  it  is 
just  going  to  be  —  something  of  that 
sort.  She  's  beautiful ;  the  kind  of  hair 
I  like :  She  does  n't  dress  it  in  the 
fashion,  and  yet  it  never  seems  out ; 
there  's  no  William  Tell  effect  on  top, 
or  a  bath  bun  or  bustle  at  the  back, 
or  Dolly  Vardens  at  the  side,  it 's  just 
coiled  away  somehow,  somewhere,  sort 
of  parted  in  front,  and  half  way  wavy, 
without  being  crimpy  or  fancy,  and  is 
darkish  —  you  know  the  kind  I  mean. 
Lovely  eyes,  and  all  the  rest  of  it ; 
splendid  figure ;  hand  full  of  character, 
and  awfully  pretty  Trilbys.  Her 
father 's  very  rich  and  only  has  one 
other  child,  so  altho'  she  has  nothing  of 
24 


TWO   TELEGRAMS 

her  own,  financially  it 's  a  chance  most 
any  fellow  would  be  glad  to  speculate 
on.  I  only  mention  this  to  show  you 
that  I  have  n't  completely  lost  my  head  ; 
of  course  the  money  does  n't  make  any 
difference  to  me,  but  I  want  you  to 
understand  that  I'm  not  altogether  im- 
practicable. 

Her  position  in  society  is  all  right, 
better  than  mine,  and  her  mother  is  al- 
ways on  the  go,  balls  and  parties  and 
smaller  things  for  dernlers  resorts,  so 
she  'd  never  be  a  bother. 

Then  the  girl  herself  has  a  mind.  Is 
tremendously  interesting  and  original  in 
all  her  conversation.  Really  I  often 
ask  her  advice  about  serious  things,  and 
take  it  besides,  and  always  find  I  am 
right.  She  knows  about  art,  and  music, 
and  is  all  around  cultivated.  The  sort 
of  girl  you  'd  be  deuced  proud  of  any- 
25 


TWO   LETTERS   AND 

where.  And  what  I  feel  particularly 
about  her  is  that  she  would  take  such  a 
great  interest  in  me  and  my  work. 
She  'd  be  a  constant  stimulant ;  she 
would  adopt  all  my  views,  ideas,  and 
ambitions ;  she  would  lose  her  own  self 
in  me,  devote  herself  to  my  work,  and 
her  life  be  absorbed  in  mine  !  I  would 
accomplish  twice  what  I  do  now.  She 
could  do  all  the  tedious  mechanical  work 
that  takes  so  much  time  I  might  be  giv- 
ing to  other  things.  She  could  help  me 
in  a  thousand  ways.  She'd  always  be 
on  hand  to  protect  me  from  the  hundred 
and  one  sacrifices  that  come  daily  kick- 
ing one  to  take  notice  of  them. 

May  be  my  love  blinds  me,  but  I 
feel  she  has  a  beautiful  character  fully 
capable  of  doing  all  this  for  me.  It 
seems  to  me  it 's  a  chance  in  a  life  time 
that  I  ought  n't  to  let  slip  by.  And 
26 


TWO   TELEGRAMS 

yet  it 's  an  irretrievable  sort  of  thing, 
this  marriage.  I  do  n't  want  to  go 
into  it  too  hastily,  and  perhaps  find  I  'd 
made  a  mistake  after  all  and  ruined  my 
career  instead  of  aiding  it.  So  I  come 
to  you,  remembering  the  old  talks  about 
marriage  over  the  midnight  wood-fire 
that  lasted  almost  till  we  heard  the 
chapel  bell  for  prayers. 

You  were  always  falling  in  love ;  I 
never.  You  ought  to  understand  the 
business  better  than  I.  (I  heard,  too, 
you  almost  ruined  yourself  a  couple  of 
years  ago  for  a  worthless  girl,  and 
nothing  teaches  like  experience.)  Think 
it  out  carefully,  and  send  me  word, 
shall  I  marry  her? 

Yours  always  sincerely, 

BENTON  FOSDICK. 

P.  S. — I  shall  only  wait  a  day  to 
hear  from  you. 

27 


TWO   LETTERS   AND 


II.  TELEGRAM  FROM  THOMAS  PLANK- 
TON, ESO^y  OF  ALBANY,  TO  BENTON 
FOSDICK,  ESQy  OF  NEW  YORK, 
APRIL  3d. 

"  In  God's  name,  for  the  sake  of  the 
girl ;  DO  N'T.  TOM." 


TWO   TELEGRAMS 


III.  LETTER  FROM  MISS  BEATRICE 
HAUTON,  OF  NEW  YORK,  TO  BEN- 
TON  FOSDICK,  ESQy  OF  NEW  YORK, 
APRIL  4TH. 

Dear  Mr.  Fosdick: — I  am  very  sorry. 
I  trust  I  have  n't  been  unconsciously 
flirting  with  you,  for  to  be  honest, 
while  I  enjoy  enormously  having  you 
take  me  in  to  dinner,  I  could  n't  for 
one  moment  think  of  sitting  opposite  to 
you  at  the  breakfast  table  !  I  thank 
you  sincerely  for  the  honor  you  pay 
me,  but  I  cannot  be  your  wife. 
Sincerely  your  friend, 

BEATRICE  HAUTON. 


TWO   TELEGRAMS 


IV.  TELEGRAM  FROM  BENTON  FOS- 
DICK,  ESQy  OF  NEW  YORK,  TO 
THOMAS  PLANKTON,  ESQ^,  OF  AL- 
BANY, APRIL  5TH. 

"Thanks,   old    man.       Have   taken 
your  advice.      B.  F." 


The  Seven   Daily  Letters  of  a 
Sea  Voyage. 


The  Seven  Daily  Letters 
of  a  Sea  Voyage. 

WEDNESDAY. 

My  Darling : 

It  nearly  broke  my  heart  to  leave  you 
on  the  dock  a  few  moments  ago,  and 
see  the  water  tumbling  between  us.  I 
had  one  of  those  impulses  to  throw  my- 
self overboard,  as  one  sometimes  has  to 
pitch  oneself  under  the  wheels  of  a 
train.  But  in  two  months  I  will  be 
back,  and  mamma  probably  entirely 
well,  and  ten  days  after  I  shall  meet 
you  (unless  you  do  not  turn  up)  at  the 
chancel  railing  of  St.  James,  with  Bess 
to  hold  my  bouquet  by  my  side,  and 
Harold  to  hold  mamma  in  the  front 
33 


THE  SEVEN   DAILY  LETTERS 

pew  ;  for  mamma,  bless  her  heart,  is 
sure  to  misbehave  herself  in  some  hys- 
terical way. 

Should  you  fail  to  put  in  an  appear- 
ance, I  would  never  leave  the  church. 
I  would  stand  there  waiting  for  you  till 
I  could  stand  no  longer,  and  then  I 
would  lie  on  the  chancel  steps  till  I 
died,  waiting  for  you.  Because  I  know 
you  would  come  unless  you  yourself 
were  no  longer  living,  and  if  you  were 
dead,  I  would  rather  meet  your  spirit 
there  in  St.  James'  chancel,  and  our 
souls  would  wed  before  we  drifted  away 
to  where  they  say  no  weddings  are. 
(How  can  it  be  heaven  without  !  !  ) 

But,  O  dear,  I  do  n't  want  to  be  sad 
in  this  letter,  and  besides  I  know  what 
you  think  —  that  you  '11  be  in  the 
church  half  an  hour  before  the  time  set 
for  the  ceremony,  and  that  I  am  sure  in 
34 


OF   A    SEA    VOYAGE 

your  opinion  will  be  at  the  least  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  before  I  begin  to 
think  of  arriving  !  We  are  just  passing 
Miss  Liberty  (what  a  dreadful  young 
person,  staying  out  all  night  the  way 
she  does  —  there 's  a  "  new  woman" 
for  you  !  )  and  I  am  scratching  away  to 
send  this  back  by  the  pilot  boat.  Will 
they  suspect,  do  you  think,  that  Cupid 's 
in  the  mail-bag  ?  I  hope  he  won't  play 
any  pranks  with  the  pilot,  especially  if 
there  is  a  wife  at  home.  I  'm  beginning 
already  to  have  very  severe  ideas  about  a 
married  man  ! 

I  want  you  to  know  that  I  am  going 
to  write  you  every  single  day  at  sea,  so 
I  shall  send  you  seven  long  letters  all  at 
once  when  the  voyage  is  over  !  Each 
letter  will  be  numbered,  and  have  its  day 
of  the  week  written  at  the  top,  and  you 
can  "  take  one  every  morning  "  till  my 
35 


THE  SEVEN   DAILY  LETTERS 

next  epistle  arrives.  Is  n't  that  a  good 
idea !  It  will  make  up  for  the  long 
time  you  have  to  wait  without  a  word 
from  me.  I  am  quite  in  earnest.  I 
shall  date  the  seven  sheets  to-night  and 
give  you  my  promise  (doing  that  '11  be- 
come a  habit  if  I  am  not  careful)  you 
shall  have  them  all. 

I  know  I  shall  not  be  ill  on  the  voy- 
age. I  'm  used  to  the  water  —  you 
know  I  was  born  on  the  banks  of  the 
Connecticut  river.  It 's  a  lovely  day, 
and  as  for  motion  I  do  n't  feel  the 
slightest  bit.  If  only  YOU  were  on 
board  I  should  n't  feel  anything  but 
gladness  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  air, 
and  the  doing-nothingness.  Mamma  is 
already  rolled  up  in  her  chair  on  deck, 
looking  like  a  guy,  and  asking  every- 
body from  the  sailors  to  the  captain, 
via  the  stewards  and  stokers,  if  we  shall 
36 


OF   A    SEA    VOYAGE 

get   in    Tuesday    night   or  Wednesday 
morning. 

Goodbye,  my  love.  They  want  the 
letters  that  are  to  go  back.  No  one  is 
looking — and  that  little  cross  there  — 
you  understand  !  I  know  1  am  silly, 
but  really  when  one  is  in  love  what  is 
one  to  do  ?  The  great,  deep,  indescrib- 
able, blessed,  infinite  something,  which 
makes  all  life  different,  and  which  we 
call  love,  we  can  't  express  that !  We 
have  to  try  and  satisfy  ourselves  by 
dwelling  on  the  external  trifles,  and  so 
we  seem  silly,  perhaps.  I  add  that 
"  perhaps  "  because  I  do  n't  want  you 
to  be  afraid  to  be  "  silly  "  when  you 
write  to  me  !  It  is  just  as  most  of  us 
can  describe  people's  clothes  better 
than  their  souls.  We  are  forced  to 
speak  of  the  flounces  (embraces),  jew- 
els (kisses),  robes  (the  holding  of 
37 


THE  SEVEN   DAILY  LETTERS 

hands),    of   love,   because good 

gracious  I  shall  miss  the  mail  bag  — 
the  man 's  waiting  for  me  to  finish. 
Goodbye  —  repeat  in  your  next  letter 
every  word  you  've  said  to  me  the  last 
three  weeks  —  if  you  leave  out  one 
single  word  I  shall  think  that  one  you 
did  n't  mean.  If  you  find  this  page 
wet,  it  is  tears,  or  kisses,  you  can  take 
your  choice — or  both.  Thine, 

MARION. 


OF    A    SEA    VOYAGE 
No.  I. 

THURSDAY. 

Afy  *  *  *  :  As  I  wrote  you,  I 
have  placed  the  day  for  seven  days  at 
the  top  of  a  sheet  of  paper  (not  that  I 
shall  limit  myself  to  one  sheet,  O  dear 
no  !)  and  repeat  my  promise  sent  you 
by  the  pilot  boat  yesterday,  you  shall 
have  all  seven  ! 

This  is  the  second  day  out.  They 
say  it  is  very  smooth,  and  I  suppose  it 
is,  but  I  find  it  rather  wobbly;  not  that 
I  am  ill,  I  don't  mean  that.  I  am  per- 
fectly well,  only  awfully  homesick  for 
YOU.  Mamma  is  in  her  first  and  most 
distressing  stage.  She  is  never  going 
back,  if  she  lives  to  reach  England,  and 
all  she  will  say,  when  I  go  to  her  state- 
room, is,  "  Please  go  away  !  "  So  I  do. 

There  is  the  usual  crowd  on  board. 
39 


THE  SEVEN   DAILY  LETTERS 

All  sorts  and  conditions  of  people,  and 
the  worst,  of  course,  are  seated  next  to 
us  at  table.  The  woman  wears  fancy 
worsted  articles  on  her  head  and  feet. 
Mamma,  who  has  talked  to  her,  says  I 
am  too  critical,  and  that  her  heart  is  in 
the  right  place,  but  I  still  can't  help 
wishing  her  head  and  feet  were  equally 
well  situated.  She  is  learning  French 
on  board  with  a  dictionary  and  Baedeker, 
and  hopes  to  be  personally  conducted 
to  Egypt  before  she  returns.  Her  hus- 
band is  with  her,  but  he  never  shows. 
Our  other  table  companions  are  some 
English  people,  who  dress  for  dinner, 
and  own  the  whole  ship,  excluding  the 
captain.  There  are  no  young  men  on 
board,  at  least  I've  not  seen  any,  except 
YOU.  The  moment  a  pair  of  trousers 
see-saws  into  view,  at  the  other  end  of 
the  ship  when  I'm  walking,  it  has  your 
4o 


OF   A  SEA    VOYAGE 

head  and  shoulders  on  —  a  rather  dan- 
gerous phantasy.  I  tremble  sometimes 
to  think  what  if  my  imagination  should 
go  too  far. 

We  saw  a  whale  to-day  (I  wish  to 
tell  you  all  the  news),  and  three  gulls 
that  swung  past  us  this  afternoon  have 
very  loving  messages  for  you  from  me. 
To  be  sure  the  whale  was  better  capable 
of  holding  the  quantity  of  love  I  wished 
to  send  you,  but  I  was  afraid  he  would 
spout  too  much  nonsense,  so  I  chose 
the  gulls. 

(There  is  at  this  moment  a  female 
creature  in  the  opposite  room  playing 
light  music  very  heavily  on  the  poor 
piano.  I  imagine  she  either  doesn't 
know  flats  and  sharps  when  she  sees 
them,  or  else  she's  hurt  their  feelings 
so  often  they  cut  her  dead  on  their  own 
account  when  they  meet.) 

41 


THE  SEVEN  DAILY  LETTERS 

Mamma  just   sent   for  me   to 

come  quickly.  I  rushed  to  her  thro' 
the  labyrinthine  halls,  up  and  down  the 
unstable  spiral  staircases,  —  and  found 
she  wanted  to  know  what  o'clock  it 
was,  and  to  tell  me,  with  tears  rolling 
out  of  her  eyes,  she  could  never,  never 
go  home  again,  and  that  I  must  be  re- 
conciled to  being  married  without  her, 
unless  you  and  father  will  come  over  to 
England.  She  wishes  to  live  hereafter 
in  the  highest  mountains  as  far  as  pos- 
sible from  the  sea,  from  the  sight  or  the 
smell  of  it !  The  suggestion  of  water 
she  receives  with  disgust,  and  has  es- 
chewed salt  on  account  of  its  painful 
associations,  speaking  with  what  she 
laboriously  declares  is  her  dying  breath. 
But  adds  a  little  inaproposly  that  for  the 
long  remainder  of  her  life,  all  food 
to  reach  her  lips  must  go  thither 
42 


OF   A    SEA   VOYAGE 

unseasoned.  That  seems  to  me  unfair 
to  pepper,  but  I  suppose  it  suffers  in  the 
way  of  a  poor  relation.  Dear  mamma, 
I  really  do  feel  so  sorry  but  one  can't  do 
anything  for  her.  Nothing  offends  her 
more  than  the  suggestion  that  she  will 
ever  be  better. 

Dear  old  darling  Tom* 

*  *  *  * 

Thank  heaven  !  the  lady  pianist  has 
suddenly  stopped.  It  is  getting  much 
rougher  outside,  so  perhaps  she  is  for- 
tunately ill,  only  I  am  afraid  if  she  can 
stand  her  own  playing  the  sea  won't 
have  much  effect  upon  her.  O  dear,  it 
is  getting  very,  very  rough,  and  I  am  so 
blue.  Of  course  I  know  you  do  love 

*The  author  has  taken  the  liberty  of  leaving  out 
several  lines  here  and  there  in  the  letters,  after  reading 
them  himself,  lines  of  a  certain  personal  and  tender  in- 
terest to  the  two  correspondents,  but  hardly  to  be  given 
to  the  public  at  large. 

43 


THE  SEVEN  DAILY  LETTERS 

me,  but  I  must  wait  so  long  before  I 
hear  you  say  so  again.  Somehow  or 
other  I  feel  like  crying. 

I  hate  the  ocean,  dearest,  because  it 
separates  us,  and  my  head  aches  awfully 
besides.  People  are  rushing  all  over 
the  place,  I  wish  they  wouldn't.  It's 
getting  rougher  and  rougher.  I  have 
to  hold  on  to  the  table  with  my  hand 
while  I  write.  I  think  people  make 
themselves  much  worse  by  not  keeping 
still.  Now  I  keep  still,  and  am  per- 
fectly well.  I  mean  I  am  not  seasick, 
but  I  think  I  have  caught  a  slight  cold, 
or  something,  that's  all.  I  long  for 
you,  dear  old  Tom.  I  think  the  trouble 
with  my  head  is  it  wants  somebody's 
shoulder  to  lean  on  !  Oh  !  there  has 
been  such  a  lurch  of  the  ship  !  Some- 
thing has  happened,  everybody  is  talk- 


44 


OF   A    SEA    VOYAGE 

ing.  A  lady  was  hurt  in  the  music 
room.  I  don't  want  to  be  cruel,  but  if 
any  one  in  the  music  room  was  hurt  it 
ought  to  have  been  —  it  was!  The 
lady  pianist's  head  was  thrown  against 
the  piano,  she  who  played  the  light 
music  a  little  while  ago.  A  young  girl 
by  me  has  just  said  she  believes  the 
piano  did  it  on  purpose.  No  one  could 
blame  the  poor  piano.  And  the  lady 
isn't  hurt  seriously,  only  been  put  a 
little  out  of  tune  probably.  Turn  about 
is  fair  play ! 

I  don't  seem  to  have  any  more  ideas. 
I  will  finish  later.  I  think  I'm  sleepy. 
I  feel  like  Alice  in  wonderland,  and  I 
wish  the  chairs  and  tables  would  behave 
themselves.  I  don't  know  how  I  shall 
get  to  my  stateroom,  for  J  don't  see 
anything  quiet  to  hold  on  by.  You  see 


45 


THE  SEVEN  DAILY  LETTERS 

the  ship  is  rolling  so.  O  dear,  I  wish 
you  were  here.  If  it  weren't  for  you  I 
should  wish  I  were  dead  ?  I  don't 
know  what's  the  matter  with  me.  I 
will  — 


OF   A    SEA    VOYAGE 
No.  II. 

FRIDAY. 


THE  SEVEN  DAILY  LETTERS 
No.  III. 

SATURDAY. 


OF   A    SEA    VOYAGE 

No.  IV. 

SUNDAY. 

Dearest : 

I  send  you  my  love.  I  am  not  very 
well.  I  think  I  must  have  caught  a 
cold.  M. 


THE  SEVEN  DAILY  LETTERS 
No.  V. 

MONDAY. 

Dearest : 

We  are  over  half  way  over.  I  am 
so  grateful.  Will  you  come  over  and 
marry  me  in  England  ?  I  cannot,  I 
cannot  go  back,  not  even  to  marry  you. 
Don't  think  I  don't  love  you,  for  I  do 
with  all  my  heart,  and  if  you  don't 
come  over  for  me  I  shall  never  marry, 
that 's  all. 

I  am  sitting  up  for  the  first  time  for 
three  days  on  the  deck  and  —  but,  I 
think,  I  shall  go  down  now. 


OF   A    SEA    VOYAGE 
No.  VI. 

TUESDAY. 

Another  beautiful  day,  and  mamma 
has  had  her  hair  done,  so  she  is  believ- 
ing in  life  again.  We  want»  her  to 
come  up  on  deck,  but  she  says  she's 
become  so  used  to  trying  to  keep  every- 
thing down  she  doesn't  want  to  break 
the  charm,  even  with  herself,  just  as 
she  seems  to  be  succeeding.  She  has 
settled  on  the  church  for  our  marriage 
in  London,  for  you  will  come  over  for 
me  won't  you,  and  she  has  made  out  an 
imaginary  list  of  guests  present  which 
includes  all  the  crowned  heads  of 
Europe.  She  said  the  list  saved  her  from 
going  mad  the  other  night.  Every  time 
the  ship  pitched  she  added  a  name,  and 
the  higher  up  the  ship  went  the  higher  in 
the  social  scale  was  the  wedding  guest. 


THE  SEVEN  DAILY  LETTERS 

We  are  seeing  sails  to-day,  and  to- 
morrow we  will  land  !  Mamma 

has  just  sent  for  me  again.  She  is  really 
very  much  better.  She  is  in  the  toilet 
stage  of  seasickness.  I  don't  know 
whether  men  have  it  or  not,  but  after 
having  her  hair  beautifully  arranged, 
she  has  resorted  to  manicuring  to  a  de- 
gree of  perilous  perfection,  and  to  face 
massage,  and  now  wants  ammonia  with 
which  to  clean  her  rings. 

My  ring  needs  no  such  care.  The 
dust  has  no  time  to  settle  down  be- 
tween kisses.  Good-bye,  my  best  be- 
loved, my  knight  with  the  true  eyes  — 

and  the  fickle  mustache ! 

*  *  *  * 

MARION. 


OF   A    SEA    VOYAGE 

No.  VII. 

*  *  *  * 

At  last !  Such  sunshine !  Such 
breezes  !  The  air  seems  full  of  kisses, 
but  as  none  of  them  are  yours  I  turn 
up  my  nose  instead  of  my  lips  to  it. 
And  you  needn't  come  over  to  Eng- 
land. The  ocean  is  perfect  to-day,  and 
I  won't  be  married  anywhere  but  in  the 
chancel  of  St.  James. 

Such  a  new  lot  of  people  !  It  is  like 
a  new  month  at  a  summer  hotel. 
Dozens  of  women  I  'd  not  seen  before 
on  the  voyage  seem  to  have  risen  like 
Venus  (only  a  little  paler)  from  the  sea. 
And  the  hats  and  bonnets  !  The  deck 
bloomed  out  this  morning  as  if  spring 
had  been  concealed  in  the  hold  and 
had  crept  upstairs  during  the  night. 
And  next  we'll  land  !  And  next  I  shall 
53 


THE  SEVEN   DAILY  LETTERS 

have  my  first  letter  from  you  !  and  in 
two  months  we  are  coming  back  and — 
but  you  know  the  whole  story,  don't 
you,  as  well  as  I.  I  said  I  would  send 
you  the  seven  letters,  so  I  do  !  If  you 
are  pressed  for  time  when  you  get  this 
budget  skip  Nos.  2  and  3.  Good-bye. 
London  will  be  empty  without  you  and 
there  won't  be  a  soul  in  Paris.  But  in 
my  heart  and  head  —  ah  !  there  will  be 
all  the  world  —  all  the  world  for  me  — 

you. 

MARION. 


Two    Letters    and  a  Postal 
Card 


I 

My  Dearest  Lucy: 

Here  is  my  visit  to  Sybil  nearly  over 
and  I  have  n't  written  to  you  yet,  but 
it 's  because  I  simply  have  n't  had  time. 
I  have  been  doing  something  every  mo- 
ment, and  whatever  fault  I  might  find, 
if  I  wished  to,  I  must  say  Sybil  has 
done  her  best  to  entertain  me.  She  is 
very  much  altered  since  we  were  all 
school  girls  together ;  grown  so  plain 
(not  that  she  ever  was  beautiful,  was 
she  ?),  but  you  know  her  mouth  was 
very  pretty.  Now,  I  do  n't  know,  but 
I  suspect  she  has  a  couple  of  what 
Dickie  calls  "hired  teeth,"  because 
57 


TWO    LETTERS   AND 

the  shape,  or  expression,  of  her  lips 
has  altered.  Perhaps  it 's  disappoint- 
ment at  not  having  had  an  offer  yet,  for 
I  don't  suppose  she  has,  as  she  isn't 
married,  and  seems  to  have  had  no  in- 
teresting experiences  to  tell  of.  Of 
course  she  always  did  dress  like  a  guy, 
—  positively  I  was  ashamed  when  we 
went  out  together,  and  had  to  add  a 
knot  of  ribbon  collar,  and  a  width  to  her 
sleeves,  just  for  self-protection.  I  think 
it  must  have  been  her  mind  we  admired 
at  school,  was  n't  it  ?  or  something  of 
the  sort,  for  she  still  says  a  clever  thing 
once  in  a  while ;  not  exactly  often,  but 
still  frequently  enough  to  remind  you 
of  what  she  did  once.  She  looks  like 
a  well-preserved  woman  of — say  — 
three  years  older  than  she  really  is,  and 
would  n't  help  her  looks  along  for  any- 
thing in  the  world !  Not  that  I  advo- 
58 


A    POSTAL   CARD 

cate  cosmetics,  as  you  know.  I  never 
use  them  at  all  myself,  except  days 
when  I  'm  feeling  badly,  or  evenings 
when  I  want  especially  to  make  an  im- 
pression, for  some  reason  or  other. 
Then  I  call  the  use  of  a  very  little  per- 
fectly legitimate.  But,  dear  me,  what 
a  time  I  have  putting  it  on !  Sybil 
never  leaves  me  alone  for  a  moment ! 
Our  rooms  are  together,  and  she  dresses 
mostly  in  mine.  I  actually  have  to  go 
into  the  bath  room,  lock  the  door,  turn 
on  the  water,  and  pretend  I  'm  taking  a 
bath,  to  get  a  moment  to  myself,  with 
my  little  pocket  box  of  red  and  white 
powder  !  One  night  I  could  n't  make 
that  opportunity,  and  the  family  nearly 
bored  me  to  death  with  enquiries  about 
my  health  and  fatigue,  and  wanted  to 
give  up  going  to  a  dance  on  my  ac- 
count !  I  shall  never  forget  that  party  ! 
59 


TWO  .LETTERS   AND 

I  hate  to  visit  people  with  families, 
do  n't  you  ?  Not  that  Sybil's  were  n't 
charming  to  me,  they  were  perfectly 
lovely,  and  I  think  really  enjoyed  meet- 
ing me  tremendously.  But,  my  dear  ! 
think  of  trying  to  give  a  smart  dinner 
party  with  two  old  maid  aunts,  and  one 
under-age  boy,  who  always  insisted  on 
being  at  the  table  !  And  then  when  we 
went  anywhere !  we  were  a  perfect 
caravan  and  had  to  go  in  relays,  or  in  a 
procession  of  carriages  !  Not  that  they 
do  n't  know  how  the  thing  ought  really 
to  be  done.  Sybil  is  exceedingly  well 
born,  there  's  no  denying  that,  and  you 
can  tell  it  from  the  furniture  and  old 
portraits,  which  are  perfect  in  style  and 
taste,  and  fit  in  everywhere,  and 
have  n't  Duveen's  and  Cypher's  price 
mark  on  them,  either.  So  Sybil  has  a 
very  swell  little  trap  of  her  own,  and  a 
60 


A    POSTAL   CARD 

charming  little  footman,  with  a  quite 
correct  livery ;  but  these  things  do  n't 
seem  essential  to  her, —  I  believe  she 
could  get  along  without  them.  There 
always  was  something  lacking  in  her ;  I 
used  to  notice  it  in  the  old  days. 

I  am  coming  home  the  day  after  to- 
morrow. My  visit  is  n't  really  up ;  I 
planned  to  stay  two  weeks,  as  they 
asked  me,  but  I  can't  stand  it.  I  said 
I  would  at  first,  and  that 's  the  trouble  ; 
but  you  see  I  had  forgotten  what  these 
small  towns  are  like.  My  dear!  Such 
parties  !  like  children's  affairs  !  and  such 
conversations !  Every  girl  I  've  met 
here  asked  me  if  I  do  n't  love  Trilby, 
and  if  I  've  seen  the  play,  and  to  please 
tell  them  all  about  it.  I  told  Sybil's 
mother  I  'd  been  twice,  but  the  people 
with  me  had  been  so  amusing  I  did  n't 
follow  much  of  the  play.  You  ought 
61 


TWO   LETTERS   AND 

to  have  seen  her  expression  !  It  was 
the  day  she  came  to  ask  me  to  wear  one 
of  my  other  evening  gowns,  instead  of 
my  white  satin  ball  dress,  at  the  rest  of 
their  fiddle-dy-dee  parties.  You  know 
my  white  satin,  the  best  thing  I  have, 
and  the  most  becoming, —  the  one  with 
the  shoulder-straps  that  do  n't  go  over 
the  shoulders  but  around  the  arms. 
Somebody  or  other  had  said  it  was  too 
decollete,  or  something  like  that.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  anything  so  ridiculous  ? 
Probably  some  girl  with  a  scrawny  neck! 
The  men  are  delightful,  really  so 
devoted,  not  half  so  careless  or  negli- 
gent as  most  New  York  men,  and  fall 
earnestly  in  love  with  you.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  they  're  entirely  too 
timid,  —  never  take  the  slightest  liber- 
ties. However,  I  suppose  that 's  more 
the  girl's  fault  than  theirs.  It 's  been 
62 


A    POSTAL   CARD 

my  experience  when  a  girl 's  bored  by  a 
man's  not  going  too  far  with  her,  she 
has  only  herself  to  blame. 

But  to  tell  you  the  real  purpose  of 
this  letter.  What  I  want  you  to  do  is, 
to  send  me  a  telegram  immediately  on 
receipt  of  this,  sign  it  mother,  and  say 
I  am  wanted  home  at  once,  some  social 
engagement  I  cannot  miss,  so  that 
Sybil  will  realize  I  can  't  help  breaking 
short  my  visit  to  her.  You  see  they  've 
made  plans  for  next  week,  so  I  must 
have  a  good  excuse  for  disappointing 
them.  Goodbye.  Do  n't  forget  to 
send  the  telegram  at  once.  My  clothes 
have  been  a  huge  success,  and  I've  had  a 
lovely  time,  but  I  do  n't  believe  in 
wearing  out  one's  welcome,  do  you  ? 
How  is  Harry  ?  Still  devoted  ? 
With  love  and  kisses, 

BLANCHE. 

63 


TWO   LETTERS   AND 

II 

My  Dear  Lucy  : 

I  know  Blanche  is  writing  you,  and 
so  I  thought,  without  saying  a  word  to 
her,  I  'd  run  up  to  my  room  and  write 
you  a  few  lines  on  my  own  account. 
Please  do  n't  believe  one-half  the  nice 
things  she 's  saying  of  us,  because  it 's 
only  her  dear  nature  that  makes  her  en- 
joy her  visit  amongst  us  provincials  !  It 
simply  does  all  of  us  good  to  see  how 
she  enjoys  our  unconventional  little 
pleasures,  and  mother  and  both  my 
aunts,  not  to  mention  the  rest  of  us,  are 
completely  won  by  her.  I  did  n't 
know  she  had  such  adaptability,  but  she 
seems  to  fit  right  into  everything,  ex- 
cept perhaps  our  rather  high-necked 
evening  dresses,  but  even  then  when 
mother  spoke  to  her  she  gave  in  most 
64 


A    POSTAL   CARD 

gracefully,  and  we  're  sure  she  '11  build 
a  second  story  to  the  shoulder  straps  of 
her  white  satin  gown,  when  she  goes 
home.  Mother  says  all  town  people 
want  is  to  come  in  contact  with  coun- 
try people  once  in  a  while  to  strike  a 
happy  medium  for  themselves  at  once. 
Blanche  has  n't  changed  one  bit ;  if  any- 
thing, she  's  grown  younger.  It 's  per- 
fectly wonderful.  She  certainly  is 
healthier  than  when  at  school,  for  she 
has  splendid  color,  and  her  complexion 
is  very  much  improved.  This  visit  has 
shown  the  real  woman  underneath  what 
some  people  who  did  n't  know  her,  per- 
haps, would  call  a  slightly  frivolous  ex- 
terior. She  was  so  sweet  just  now,  as 
she  decided  to  write  to  you.  She  put 
her  arms  about  my  neck,  and  said  she 
was  going  to  write  you  what  a  perfectly 
lovely  time  she  was  having,  and  that 
65 


TWO    LETTERS    AND 

she  could  live  with  us  forever,  and 
hoped  nothing  horrid  would  happen  to 
cut  short  her  visit.  She  had  a  sort  of 
presentiment  as  if  something  might,  and 
it  would  break  her  heart. 

Now,  why  I  go  into  all  this  is, 
especially,  because  I  do  n't  want  you  to 
believe  all  she  says,  and  think  it 's  a 
paradise  here,  and  then  be  disappointed, 
for  mother  joins  me  in  begging  you  to 
come  to  us  for  a  fortnight  on  the  2Oth, 
the  day  after  Blanche  goes  home.  We 
can  give  only  the  simplest  sort  of 
amusement  but  can  offer  you  the  very 
greatest  welcome,  not  only  from  our 
own  little  family  here,  but  from  the 
whole  town  !  Do  write  that  you  will 
come.  Blanche  has  encouraged  me 
into  not  letting  old  school  friendships 
go  the  way  of  our  dolls.  They  are 


66 


A    POSTAL    CARD 

like  small  children  in  a  family,  when 
they  die  no  new  little  ones  that  may 
come  can  take  the  place  of  the  ones 
that  are  gone.  So  do  come  to  us,  will 
you  ?  Pack  up  your  very  simplest  ball 
dress  (the  highest  neck,  not  the  highest 
price).  My  two  maiden  aunts  are  both 
Miss  Grannises',  I  'm  afraid,  and  very 
lovable,  as  I  do  n't  doubt  she  is. 
Mother  joins  me  in  love  and  hoping  to 
see  you  on  the  2Oth. 

As  ever, 

SYBIL. 

P.  S.  I  kept  this  letter  over  night  to 
post,  and  this  morning  early  came  a  tel- 
egram from  Blanche's  mother,  —  is  n't 
it  a  pity  !  She  must  leave  to-day.  We 
are  in  an  awful  mix-up,  because  we  'd 
accepted  several  invitations  for  the  rest 
of  the  week.  Little  parties  given 


67 


TWO   LETTERS   AND 

especially  in  Blanche's  honor.  But  of 
course  she  must  not  disappoint  her 
mother.  Now  won't  you  come  on  the 
day  after  to-morrow,  instead  of  the 
20th  ?  Do  ! 

s. 


A   POSTAL   CARD 
III 

POST    CARD 

Dear  S.:  I  waited  to  answer  your  letter 
until  I  saw  Blanche,  and  now  it  is  Sunday 
night,  not  a  stamp  in  the  house,  and  as 
this  must  reach  you  to-morrow,  I  hope 
you  will  excuse  the  post  card.  I  'd 
dearly  love  to  come,  but  I  simply 
can  't !  It  is  sweet  of  you  to  ask  me,  — 
but  Blanche  says  I  have  no  dresses  that 
would  do  at  all.  We  go  to  Narragan- 
sett  in  five  days  for  the  summer.  Papa 
has  taken  the  most  expensive  cottage 
there.  Blanche  says  she  had  an  ideal 
time  with  you,  and  from  her  description 
I  should  imagine  she  had.  It  is  cruel  I 
can  't  come.  You  must  pay  me  a  visit 
some  time,  —  next  Lent,  maybe. 
Lots  of  love, 

L. 
69 


Childhood 


Childhood 

(Eighteen  Ninety-six.) 

TWO  LETTERS,  THE  SECOND  FROM 
SUSIE,  OF  ALBANY,  MTAT  ELEVEN. 
A  BLONDE  DEMOISELLE  IN  A  STIFF 
WHITE  FROCK,  HIGH-WAISTED,  THANKS 
TO  A  BROAD  PINK  SASH,  HAIR  VELAS- 
QUEZ,  A  GOLD  BANGLE  ON  HER  RIGHT 

WRIST. 

THE  FIRST  LETTER  FROM  BEATRICE, 
OF  NEW  YORK,  JETAT  ALSO  ELEVEN.  A 
BRUNETTE  YOUNG  LADY,  FOND  OF 
PLAYING  "TAG,"  IN  A  BLUE  SERGE 
DRESS,  WITH  HER  HAIR  IN  A  BRAID. 


CHILDHOOD 


II 

ALBANY 

My  Darling  Beatrice: 

Awfully  funny  things  have  happened 
at  our  house  !  Papa  has  gone  away  all  of 
a  sudden  and  taken  all  his  clothes  with 
him,  and  they  won't  tell  me  where 
he  is  gone  to,  nor  when  he  is  coming 
back  !  And  as  if  that  was  n't  enough 
trouble,  dear  Grandma  has  come  all  at 
once  to  visit  us,  and  for  a  dreadfully 
long  time  I  guess,  for  she  has  brought 
lots  of  trunks,  but  did  n't  bring  me  any 
present. 

I  heard  her  tell  Mama  that  it  was  all 
for  the  best  that  Papa  had  gone  away, 
so  I  believe  he  is  looking  for  a  fortune 
or  buried  treasure  somewhere,  and 
maybe  he  will  come  back  awfully  rich. 
If  he  does  I  will  let  you  know. 
74 


CHILDHOOD 

I  think  Mama  misses  him  terribly, 
because  she  won't  let  me  mention  his 
name,  and  cries  whenever  Grandma 
is  n't  looking.  She  won't  have  any- 
thing of  Papa's  around.  I  suppose  be- 
cause they  make  her  homesick  for  him, 
and  Mr.  Roberts,  our  lawyer  who  made 
Uncle  Ned's  will  who  left  Mama  all  his 
money,  comes  nearly  ever  day,  I  guess 
to  keep  her  from  being  lonesome.  But 
if  I  was  my  Papa  I  would  be  jealous. 

Nobody  hardly  comes  to  see  us  any 
more.  I  suppose  people  think  they 
will  wait  till  Papa  comes  back,  and 
Mama  does  n't  have  her  day  at  all.  It 's 
awfully  stupid,  that  is  the  reason  I  am 
writing  to  you.  I  can  't  play  with  my 
little  girl  friends.  I  do  n't  see  why.  I 
think  I  could  miss  my  Papa  just  as 
much,  if  I  was  having  a  good  time. 

O,  you  know  my  lovely  white  cat 
75 


CHILDHOOD 

Launcelot  ?  Well  what  do  you  think? 
— he  has  had  kittens !  Five  little  pussies ! 
I  have  not  decided  yet  whether  to  give 
them  girl's  or  boy's  names,  which 
would  you  if  you  were  me  ?  I  just 
love  your  pink  note  paper.  May  I  get 
some  like  it  ? 

Write  soon.  Your  loving  little 
friend, 

SUSIE. 

P.  S.  I  have  just  been  told  that  we 
are  going  far  away  to  a  place  called 
Dakota  to  live  for  six  months. 

I  suppose  that  is  where  Papa  is  and 
we  are  going  to  join  him. 

SUSIE. 

P.  S.  Do  n't  forget  about  your  note 
paper. 

SUE. 


CHILDHOOD 

I 

NEW  YORK. 
My  Dearest  Susie: 

What  a  child  you  are  !  Do  n't  you 
know  what  it  is  about  your  Papa  and 
Mama  ?  They  are  going  to  be  divorced. 
I  know  all  about  it,  they  have  talked 
about  nothing  else  at  dinner  at  our 
house  for  several  days.  Mama's  maid 
told  me  what  she  knew,  and  I  told 
Thompson  what  I  had  managed  to  hear 
at  the  table,  and  between  us  we  have 
made  it  all  out.  I  think  it  is  perfectly 
awful  the  way  grown  up  people  keep 
us  children  in  ignorance,  or  at  least  try 
to.  My  parents  do  n't  succeed  very 
well  any  longer,  because  I  understand 
them.  As  soon  as  they  begin  to  talk 
mysteriously  I  always  pretend  to  be 
sleepy  or  thinking  of  something  else, 
77 


CHILDHOOD 

and  then  really  and  truly  listen  with  all 
my  might  and  main.  The  moment 
Mama  says,  "  O  Will,  you  know  the 
woman  I  met  yesterday,  the  one  we 
passed  coming  home  from  church,  you 
know,  well — "  you  see,  not  mentioning 
any  names,  then  I  know  it 's  something 
they  do  n't  want  me  to  understand.  I 
do  n't  see  how  they  can  think  us  so 
stupid,  do  you  ?  Just  like  when  baby 
brother  came  last  summer,  they  told  me 
he  came  down  in  a  rainstorm,  and  my 
dear,  it  had  n't  rained  for  a  week,  and 
yet  he  was  a  bran  new  child,  any  one 
could  see  that,  so  it  could  n't  have  been 
a  rainstorm,  and  there 's  a  mystery 
there  too,  and  I  shall  make  that  out  some 
day. 

Your  Papa  has  been  very  naughty,  I 
do  n't  know  what  he  's  done,  but  Mama 
does  n't  blame  your  Mama  at  all.     But 
78 


CHILDHOOD 

Papa  sympathizes  with  him,  which 
Mama  says  she  can  't  understand,  but  I 
suspect  maybe  Papa  's  been  naughty  too. 
You  know  my  dear,  grown  up  people 
think  nearly  everything  is  naughty,  so  it 
probably  isn  't  much,  and  I  think  you 
can  have  an  awfully  good  time,  because 
when  your  Mama  is  cross  you  can  go 
and  live  with  your  Papa,  and  when  he 
is  cross  go  back  to  her.  And  then  you 
ought  to  get  twice  as  much  candy  and 
spending  money.  And  divorce  can 't 
be  anything  wrong.  There  's  nothing 
about  it  in  the  catechism  or  the  com- 
mandments. It 's  just  like  when  you 
play  house  and  get  tired.  I  guess  your 
Papa  's  tired.  I  am  very  gay  just  now. 
Dancing  school  has  begun  again,  Wed- 
nesdays from  4  to  6,  and  last  Wednes- 
day Bobby  Morton  danced  with  me  four 
times.  All  the  other  girls  were  awfully 
79 


CHILDHOOD 

jealous  because  he  is  the  best  dancer 
there  and  can  even  reverse  a  little.  I 
heard  a  grown  up  lady  admire  us  toge- 
ther, and  I  do  think  we  look  well,  and  I 
had  on  my  white  lace  dress,  with  a  pink 
sash  and  patent  leather,  real  patent 
leather  slippers.  You  must  n't  tell,  but 
I  gave  him  a  candy  motto  with  For- 
get me  not  Forget  me  never  on  it,  and 
he  gave  me  a  lovely  nut  carved  like  a 
little  basket,  which  I  wear  on  a  ribbon 
around  my  neck,  it  scratches  me  awfully, 
and  I  have  such  a  time  to  hide  it  from 
Thompson  when  she  washes  me  in  the 
morning!  I  am  engaged  to  Bobby  for 
all  the  waltzes  for  next  Wednesday, 
and  tonight  when  we  play  post  office, 
at  a  party  I  am  invited  to,  I  am  going 
to  choose  him.  But  I  sha'n't  let  him 
kiss  me.  I  shall  run  away  when  he 


80 


CHILDHOOD 

tries  to,  unless  he  tries  awfully  hard.  I 
do  n't  intend  to  spoil  my  dress.  It 's  a 
lovely  party  and  awfully  late,  we  are 
asked  from  seven  till  ten,  and  Mama  says 
I  may  stay  till  half  past  nine.  Do  n't 
tell  any  one  about  Bobby.  Of  course 
it 's  only  a  flirtation. 

Perhaps  you  will  all  go  in  mourning 
for  your  divorce,  that  would  be  fun.  I 
wonder  how  long  it  lasts.  I  will  ask 
Thompson.  Think  how  nice  it  would 
be  to  use  black  edged  paper.  Oh  yes, 
about  my  pink  paper,  of  course  you  know 
my  dear,  you  can  copy  it  if  you  like.  I 
do  n't  mind  at  all.  Only  I  do  think  it 
would  be  nicer  if  you  did  n't. 

With  love  and  kisses, 

BEATRICE. 

P.  S.  Excuse  blots  and  mistakes  and 
write  soon. 


8t 


CHILDHOOD 

P.  S.  I  forgot  about  the  kittens.  If 
I  were  you  I  would  give  half  girls' 
names,  and  half  boys',  because  you 
know  you  never  can  tell  how  children 
will  turn  out. 


The   Impressionist  and   the 

Widowed  Lady: 

Six  Conversations. 


The     Impressionist     and 
The   Widowed   Lady : 
Six   Conversations. 
I. 

It  was  one  of  those  warm  spring 
days  and  I  felt  like  taking  life  pleas- 
antly —  pleasantly,  that  is,  with  Mrs. 
Turnbull.  It  was  early,  only  a  little 
after  three,  as  I  went  up  the  steps,  and 
I  said  to  myself:  "  There'll  be  no  one 
else,  and  we  can  skip  all  the  nothings. 
I  wasn't  prepared  for  a  fashionable 
visit ;  I  'd  been  lunching  at  the  club  in 
a  serge  suit  and  my  last  year's  spring  over- 
coat ;  the  latter  with  my  low  hat  I  could 
leave  in  the  hall  unseen,  and  I  felt,  in 
the  careful  light  always  to  be  found  in 
85 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

Mrs.  Turnbull's  discreet  drawing-room, 
and  under  her  friendly,  uncritical  eyes, 
my  informal  appearance  might  escape 
notice.  She  was  "at  home."  Her 
little  maid  is  so  sympathetic  and  cool 
looking  —  such  an  attraction  in  a  maid 
servant ;  however,  a  cool  appearance  to 
my  mind  is  more  essential  to  any  sort 
of  a  servant  than  a  "  character."  I 
moved  toward  the  drawing-room,  the 
maid  preceding  me,  and  suddenly  there 
was  a  babble  of  voices,  among  which 
my  name  fell  like  a  pebble,  creating  a 
ripple  of  murmurs.  It  was  too  late  to 
retreat,  and  I  followed  my  name,  a 
little  timidly,  into  —  a  ladies'  lunch 
party  !  If  ever  a  fish  felt  out  of  water  ! 
I  bowed  and  was  introduced  all  around, 
Mrs.  Turnbull  evidently  wishing  to 
help  me  out  of  my  embarrassment. 
One  woman  I  had  owed  a  duty  visit 
86 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

for  months,  and  had  vowed  to  her  only 
the  night  before  at  a  dinner  that  I  was 
absolutely  tied  to  my  easel  all  the  day 
with  a  difficult  portrait,  and  was  mak- 
ing no  calls.  You  'd  never  have  thought 
it  was  spring  from  her  greeting  of  me  ! 
A  second  lady  (there  's  no  use  bother- 
ing with  their  names — they  were  the 
same  names  one  hears  everywhere)  said 
she  thought  I  was  abroad.  (I  had  for- 
gotten an  invitation  from  her  this  winter 
till  too  late  to  answer,  and  in  despera- 
tion had  let  it  go,  intending  to  disclaim 
ever  having  received  it,  were  I  called 
to  account.)  The  third  luncheon  guest 
was  some  one  who  had  on  several  oc- 
casions refused  to  make  my  acquain- 
tance, audibly,  considering  many  of  my 
pictures  u  indecent,  and  impressionistic  " 
(her  words).  The  last  guest  was  one 
of  those  cupid-ridden  women  who  fall 
87 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

in  love  with  every  man  they  meet,  and 
for  whom  the  whole  world  is  divided 
into  three  classes  :  —  the  men  they  have 
flirted  with  "  desperately"  and  the  men 
they  are  flirting  with  '•'•desperately"  and 
the  men  they  hope  to  flirt  with  "  desper- 
ately!"  No  man  could  escape  this 
sort  of  amorous  switch-back  with  Mrs. 
Tindley  when  once  introduced  with- 
out being  unpardonably  rude.  Mrs. 
Xurnbull  introduced  me  and  I  was 
unpardonably  rude.  I  hear  she  said 
last  night  at  a  late  supper,  that  she 
couldn't  understand  what  Mrs.  Turn- 
bull  saw  in  me,  and  that  I  was  hurting 
Mrs.  T's  reputation.  I  think  this  will 
come  in  conveniently  for  an  excuse  to 
go  to  see  Mrs.  Turnbull  again  to-day 
— but  I  must  finish  about  my  other  visit. 
I  spoiled  the  luncheon  party ! 
Whether  they  were  telling  stories  not 
88 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

proper  for  men   to   hear,  or   for   what 
reason  I  don't  know,  but  they  all  left. 

Mrs.  Turnbull  gave  a  sigh  to  herself 
and  a  cigarette  to  me. 

"  You  did  wrong  to  refuse  Mrs. 
Tindley's  invitation." 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Idle  men  all  find  her  amusing." 

I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but  women 
of  the  world  always  think  painters,  and 
writers,  and  musicians  never  have  any- 
thing to  do. 

"  Let's  talk  about  you,"  I  said.  "  I 
haven't  seen  you  for  two  days." 

"  I  know ;  I  thought  you  were  dead." 

"  Ah,  you  did  notice  it  then  ?  "  I 
confess  I  was  pleased. 

"  No,  it  was  my  sister-in-law,  who 
notices  everything,  and  who  has  been 
lunching  with  me  all  this  week,  who 
remarked  it." 

89 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  not  going  to  be 
too  nice  to  me  to-day,"  was  my  appar- 
ently irrelevant  answer. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  when  you  tease  me  I  know 
you  care  for  me." 

"  Clever  boy,  you'll  never  be  teased 
again  by  me  !  " 

"  A  mean  advantage,"  I  began 
meekly. 

"  Don't  be  sad  over  it,"  she  replied. 
"  You  know  with  us  women  advan- 
tages are  like  secrets  —  impossible  to 
keep." 

There  was  an  encouraging  note  in 
this,  but  I  was  put  out  of  key,  and  I  re- 
mained in  the  banter  mood. 

"  I  hope,"  I  said  emphatically,  "  you 

are  not  so  desperate  for  occupation  as 

to  have  taken  up  the  inequalities  of  the. 

sexes.     You  are  not  going  to  be  new!" 

90 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  Oh  no,"  she  laughed,  "  I'm  not  old 
enough  yet." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

She  rose.  "  Good  afternoon,"  she 
said.  "  I  am  only  interviewed  between 
the  hours  of  1 1  and  12.30  A.  M." 

"  I  only  asked  (/  kept  my  chair)  be- 
cause Mrs.  Pankgor  said " 

"  What  did  that  woman  say,"  she 
gasped  interruptingly,  and  reseating  her- 
self heavily  at  the  same  time. 

"  That  you  didn't  look  your  age 
whatever  it  was." 

"  What  did  she  mean  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  that's  why  I  asked." 

"  I  should  say  it  was  complimentary ; 
what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  That,  or  jealousy." 

"Jealousy!      Of  you  /  " 

This  hadn't  occurred  to  me,  but  I 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

shrugged  my  shoulders  significantly  to 
watch  the  effect. 

"  You  conceited  thing  !  "  she  added. 

I  regretted  my  little  maneuver  after 
this  unsatisfactory  outcome. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  didn't  mean  that,  of 
course  !  "  I  protested. 

"  Really  men  are " 

"  But  I  didn't  mean  that,  I  say  !  " 

"  Oh,  it's  too  late  to  take  it  back 
now ! " 

41  I'm  not  taking  it  back." 

"  Well,  then,  why  are  you  painting 
her  portrait  ? " 

"  For  money." 

"  I'll  believe  that  when  I  see  her 
husband's  check." 

"  You  don't  really  think " 

"  It's  a  notorious  fact  that  Mr.  Van 
Tinkleton  happened  in  on  you  and 
found  the  canvas  barely  touched, 
92 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

although   his  wife  had  given  you  thir- 
teen sittings  !  " 

"  Thirteen  is  an  unlucky  number  !  " 

"  You  had  only  painted  in  half  the 
face." 

"  It  was  finished  down  to  the  lips  !  " 

"  Yes.  A  nice  place  to  stop  work 
—  for  a  while  !  " 

"  Really  you're  not  in  earnest !  "  I 
expostulated. 

"  Well  at  least  I'm  glad  Mrs.  Van 
Tinkleton's  portrait  is  finished,  and  I'll 
be  gladder  when  Mrs.  Pankgor's  is." 

"  So  will  I." 

"  Honestly  ?  " 

"  Yes."  A  wild  hope  seized  my 
heart  and  carried  it  away  and  me  with 
it.  My  voice  trembled  as  I  said : 
"  Mrs.  Turnbull " 

"  No,  you  mustn't." 

"Mustn't  what?" 
93 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

"  Say  what  you  are  going  to." 

"  What  am  I  going  to  say  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Van  Tinkleton,"  announced 
the  maid.  Somehow  or  other  she  didn't 
seem  so  cool  as  usual,  or  else  I  wasn't. 

"Not  at "  began  Mrs.  Turn- 
bull,  but  stopped  as  the  lady  herself  en- 
tered. 

"  Only  a  moment ;  I  won't  keep  you 
a  moment,"  she  said  on  seeing  me  — 
which  I  thought  very  bad  taste  in  her. 
But  at  a  signal  from  Mrs.  Turnbull, 
which  there  was  no  mistaking  (she  held 
out  her  hand)  I  vowed  I  was  just  leav- 
ing. 

"  Don't  forget  where  we  left  off," 
she  said  as  I  dropped  her  hand,  or,  to 
speak  more  literally,  as  she  took  it 
away,  slowly,  gracefully,  sympatheti- 
cally, but  still  away. 

"  After  you  stopped  me,  and  said  I 
94 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

mustn't  go  on  ?  "  I  tried  to  throw  re- 
proach into  my  voice. 

"  Oh,  well,  perhaps  I  won't  stop  you 
next  time  ! "  was  her  parting  shot. 

"  Then  I  shall  surely  remember,"  I 
answered.  And  now  I'd  give  almost 
anything  to  know  if  she  tried  to  pump 
Mrs.  Tinkleton  or  not  after  I  left.  But 
Mrs.  Tinkleton  is  very  discreet.  You 
can  tell  that  from  her  husband. 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

II. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  wait- 
ing," she  said  as  she  trailed  into  the 
room  in  a  charming  afternoon  con- 
glomeration, "but  I  was  signing 
checks." 

"  In  that  dress  !  "  I  exclaimed,  trying 
to  make  a  compliment. 

"  Yes,  it 's  not  paid  for.     I  always 
sign  checks  in  a  dress  that 's  not  paid 
for,  it 's  such  a  comfortable  feeling  to 
know  that  some  one  is  willing   to  wait 
longer !     It   was   charming  of  you   to 
come  in  again  so  soon." 
"  You  did  n't  expect  me  ?  " 
"  How  dare  I  ?  "     (Smiling.} 
"  I  came  in  to  say  what  you  asked 
me  to  remember.     You  did  ask  me  to 
remember  something  yesterday,  did  n't 


you  ? " 


96 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  No,  did  I  ?  "  Her  eyes  told  me 
plainly  she  knew  she  did. 

"  Yes,  you  did.*' 

"  I  'd  quite  forgotten.  But  so  much 
has  happened  since  yesterday.  Col. 
Capperly  took  me  out  to  dinner  at  the 
Caningaides  !  " 

I  bit  my  mustache.  She  knows  very 
well  if  there  's  one  man  I  dislike  it 's 
Capperly.  He  is  the  most  famous  in- 
terrupter of  tete-d-tetes  in  town,  and  the 
trouble  is  the  women  are  always  glad  to 
have  him  turn  up.  I've  never  found  a 
group  of  palms  yet,  that  he  could  n't 
see  a  couple  thro',  or  a  cosy  recess 
small  for  two,  he  did  n't  know  the  ex- 
act position  of,  or  in  fact  any  retired 
and  respectable  place  for  a  flirtation 
that  he  did  n't  know  the  way  to. 

"  Perhaps,"  I  said  sulkily,  "  Capperly 


97 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

got  ahead  of  me,  and  said  what  I  was 
going  to." 

"Don't  be  ridiculous!  Col.  Cap- 
perly  has  won  both  times  his  wife  sued 
for  a  divorce." 

"  He  had  a  good  lawyer." 

"  He  had  a  good  conscience,  you 
mean." 

"  I  think  even  he  himself  would  call 
you  a  flatterer  !  "  I  felt  irritated. 

"Well  at  any  rate  he  isn't  free" 

"  No,  and  it 's  interesting  to  know 
that  you  realize  what  it  is  I  have  in 
mind  to  say  to  you,"  I  remarked. 

"  O,  I  am  not  sure"  she  answered. 
"4  only  guess  at  it,  and  I  may  be 
wrong.  You  must  tell  me  if  I  am  or 
not,  sometime  ! " 

"  Now  !  "  I  exclaimed  eagerly. 

"  No.     I  'm  blue  to-day.     Tell   me 
a  funny  story  instead." 
98 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"I  will  describe  my  flirtation  with 
Mrs.  Van  Tinkleton." 

"  Then  you  really  did  have  one  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  knew."  I  was  sorry 
I  had  owned  to  it  so  easily. 

"  O,  she  told  me  so,  but  of  course 
that  was  no  proof.  She  told  me  last 
autumn  when  she  came  back  to  town 
she  had  been  flirting  like  mad  all  sum- 
mer with  a  man  whose  funeral  I  had 
attended  eighteen  months  before." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  asked  her  if  she  never  read  the 
death  notices  ?  " 

"  Did  she  understand  ?  " 

"O,  no!  Mrs.  Van  Tinkleton 
never  understands  !  She  answered  that 
only  the  marriage  notices  interested  her, 
although  she  hoped  some  day  some  paper 
would  be  swell  enough  to  publish  a 
divorce  column  ! " 

99 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  How  you  dislike  the  woman,"  I 
exclaimed  involuntary. 

"I  dislike  any  woman  whose  child 
prefers  her  nurse  to  her  mother,  which 
little  Violet  most  certainly  does  —  not 
that  I  blame  the  child"  —  she  added 
half  humorously. 

"  You  're  not  a  cynic  after  all,  in 
spite  of  what  the  world  says." 

"  My  dear  friend,  whatever  one  is, 
it  is  always  in  spite  of  what  somebody 
says  !  But  I  told  you  I  was  blue  ;  let 's 
go  back  to  your  flirtation.  I  congratu- 
late you  on  the  result." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "     I  asked. 

"  You  're  the  first  man  I've  known 
to  whom  Gerty  Van  paid  desperate  at- 
tention, or  who  paid  it  to  her  —  you 
can  put  it  whichever  way  you  choose 
—  who  did  n't  either  go  ail  to  pieces, 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

or  abroad,  or  to  the  dogs,  or  marry  some- 
one else  immediately  !  Now  you  've 
done  none  of  these." 

"  Perhaps  I  'd  like  to  have  done  one 
of  them." 

"  Do  n't  be  silly  ! "  she  said  in  a  half 
warning,  half  encouraging  way. 

"  How  you  jump  at  conclusions  !  " 
I  answered,  amused  at  the  chance  of 
turning  the  tables  on  her. 

"  I  '11  make  you  sorry  for  that,"  she 
replied,  suddenly  becoming  serious,  as 
women  will  in  the  middle  of  a  jest  when 
they  find  themselves  caught. 

"  That  I  do  n't  doubt,"  I  replied. 

Then  there  was  a  pause.  She  took 
up  two  antique  silver  ornaments  from 
the  table  beside  her,  examined  each 
minutely  in  turn,  and  then  put  them 
back  again. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  — " 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up  ex- 
pectantly, but  sharply. 

I  vacillated.  "  If  your  lightness, 
your  inconsequence,  goes  really  beneath 
the  surface  ?  or  if  there  is  something 
more  serious  behind  it  ?  " 

"  Why  not  try  to  be  serious  your- 
self, and  see  what  you  could  bring  out 
of  me?" 

"  As  if  I  never  was." 

"  O!  well,  then,  you  should  have 
some  sign,  some  signal  —  violets  in 
your  button-hole  when  you  are  serious ; 
rose  pinks  on  your  frivolous  days." 

"  Ah!  You  are  in  the  same  quandary 
about  me  as  I  about  you!  " 

"  Not  at  all!  Personally  I  know 
you  to  be  light  as  the  air.  But  Mrs. 
Van  Tinkleton  vows  that  your  serious- 
ness quite  bored  her  to  death,  which  was 
her  reason  for  breaking  it  off!  " 

102 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

"  She  said  that  did  she  ?  Well,  then, 
I  will  tell  you  about  our  flirtation." 

"  You  forget  that  she  has  already 
told  me." 

"  I  always  like  you  when  you  speak 
of  Mrs.  Van  Tinkleton!  "  I  inserted. 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  puzzled. 

"  Because  you  always  seem  jealous, 
and  that  flatters  — " 

"  I  '11  never  mention  the  woman's 
name  again  in  your  presence  !  " 

This   time   my  diplomacy  had   won. 

"  I  '11  do  the  talking  of  her  instead. 
To  begin  with,  there  is  our  flirtation  !  " 

"  I  really  don't  care  to  hear  about 
it,"  and  she  pretended  to  yawn  —  not 
wide  enough  to  spoil  her  adorable 
mouth,  so  that  the  ennui  was  rather 
feeble.  But  I  humored  her. 

"  You  are    tired,"  I    said.     "  I   will 

go" 

103 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

|g 

"  No,  do  n't ;  tell  me  some  good 
books  to  read." 

She  was  quite  serious.  Was  it  a 
ruse  ?  I  knew  I  must  be  wary,  but  I 
decided  to  take  her  in  earnest. 

"  Why  do  n't  you  tackle  a  little 
Ibsen  ?  "  I  suggested. 

"  What 's  his  last  book  ? " 

I  told  her. 

"  That  !     I  read  it  long  ago." 

"  And  the  others  ?  "  I  queried  a  lit- 
tle faintly. 

"  I  've  read  them  all."  She  was 
looking  out  of  the  window.  At  least 
her  head  was  turned  that  way. 

"  You  might  take  up  Maeterlinck  !  " 
I  thought,  as  I  spoke,  of  the  quickest 
way  to  explain  who  he  was. 

"  On  the  shelf  there  at  your  right 
you  will  find  autograph  copies  of  every- 
thing he 's  ever  written.  We  were 
104 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

great  friends  the  winter  I  spent  in 
Brussels.  I  know  some  of  his  works 
by  heart." 

I  was  dumb  ! 

"  Do  you  like  Maeterlinck  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  I  've  never  read  him,"  I  answered 
honestly. 

«  O  ! " 

"  There  's  Max  Nordau's  book,  that 
everyone  was  talking  of,  'Degenera- 
tion !  '  " 

"  I  hate  it.  You  don't  mean  to  say 
you  like  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  n't  know,"  I  said,  desperately. 
"  I  have  n't  read  that  either  !  " 

"  What  have  you  read  ?  "  she  asked, 
amused.  "  Trilby  ?  " 

"  No,  not  even  that,"  I  answered. 
"  I  heard  it  talked  about  too  much." 

"  Of  course  you  can  read  ?  " 
105 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

«  If  I  try  hard." 

"What,  Ouida?" 

"  No,  she  bores  me  to  death.  George 
Meredith  is  my  favorite  novelist." 

"  Not  really ! !  "       « 

There  was  no  disguising  her  surprise, 
and  I  felt  hurt. 

41 1  did  n't  mean  to  say  it  that  way," 
she  pleaded  honestly,  "  and  I  'm  so 
glad,  too,  because  he  's  one  of  mine  !  " 

A  clock  struck.  I  had  no  idea  it 
was  so  late.  I  was  obliged  to  go.  It 
was  n't  till  I  rose  that  I  remembered  I 
had  bought  a  bunch  of  violets  for  her 
on  the  street,  and  thrust  them  into  my 
coat  tail  pocket ! 

"  How  strange,"  she  murmured  in- 
nocently. "  I  smell  violets." 

"  Thought  transference,"  I  said ; 
"  they  are  the  ones  I  am  going  to  bring 
you  my  next  call." 

1 06 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  I  have  no  engagement  for  three  to- 
morrow." 

"  I  have  one,  made  at  this  moment," 
and  I  kissed  her  hand. 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 


III. 

"  Well,  you  see  I  've  come !  "  I  said 
as  I  entered. 

"  Yes,  so  I  perceive,"  she  replied 
with  a  very  conventional  smile. 
"  Won  't  you  sit  down?  " 

"  Really,"  I  answered,  feeling  a  little 
chilled  by  the  reception ;  "  really  I 
expected  a  somewhat  different  greeting 
than  simply  to  be  asked  to  sit  down." 

"  Oh,  well,  then,"  she  smiled, 
"  stand." 

"  I  refer  to  your  manners,"  I  argued, 
"  but  you  say  sit  down  as  if  I  were  an 
ordinary  visitor,  and  only  expected  to 
stay  a  few  minutes." 

"  And  how  long  do  you  intend  to  re- 
main? " 

This  was  a  poser. 
108 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  I  only  ask,"  she  continued,  "  be- 
cause I  should  beg  you  to  stay  it — 
three  hours,  four  hours,  or  whatever  it 
may  be  !  " 

"  Suppose  it  were  not  three  hours, 
or  four  hours — suppose  I  had  come  to 
stay  forever." 

"  Oh,  in  that  case,"  and  she  laughed, 
"  I  certainly  would  n't  ask  you  to  sit 
down !  " 

"  What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  What  could  I  do  !  I  think  1  should 
call  in  the  police  !  Because  really  you 
know  I  could  n't  have  you  staying  here 
always.  What  would  my  sister-in-law 
say  !" 

"  Am  I  to  take  that  seriously  ?  " 

"  As  seriously  as  I  take  you." 

"  But  I  want  you  to,"  I  pleaded. 

"  Want  me  to  what  ?  Do  you 
know,"  she  added  quickly  before  I 
109 


could  answer  her,  "that  I  think  that 
you  are  a  horrid  pessimist." 

"  You  're  awfully  good,"  I  said, 
rather  taken  aback,  and  wondering  into 
which  pocket  I  should  put  my  gloves. 
"  But  I  'm  afraid  I  can  't  live  up  to  your 
opinion,"  and  I  deposited  the  little 
wad  of  suede  in  the  last  place  I 
should  think  of  looking  for  it  on  leav- 
ing. 

«  Why  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  You  tell  me  why  you  made  the 
remark  first.  Place  aux  dames ! "  I 
answered. 

"  Not  nowadays,"  she  laughed,  "  ex- 
cept when  they  grab  it  and  stick  there  ! 
No,  explain  to  me  first  and  afterward  I 
will  tell  you."  Of  course  she  did  n't, 
but  I  did.  However,  I  can 't  say  she 
seemed  particularly  persuaded. 

I  remembered  her  violets,  which  this 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

time  I  had  left  for  safety  in  the  hall, 
and  brought  them  in  to  her. 

"  How  nice  of  you  to  have  thought 
of  them,"  she  said.  "  I  should  n't 
have." 

"  I  don  't  believe   you,"  I  answered. 

She  laughed.  "  I  shall  wear  these  to 
the  private  view  of  the  Fine  Arts 
Society  this  afternoon." 

"  Are  you  going  ?  "  The  note  of 
disappointment  in  my  voice  was  quite 
childish. 

"  Not  till  late  ?  But  are  n't  you 
going  ?  "  in  a  tone  of  invitation. 

"  Oh,  yes,  late"  and  I  smiled  at  her, 
so  that  she  was  obliged  to  lift  the 
violets  to  her  face,  and  played  hide-and- 
go-seek  with  my  adoring  admiration. 

"  You  must  explain  all  the  pictures. 
You  know  how  ignorant  I  am,"  she 
remarked. 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

"  Yes,  I  found  that  out  discussing 
books  with  you  yesterday  !  " 

"  Oh,  but  pictures,  which  reminds 
me  of  what  my  dear  father  who  is  n't 
an  impressionist  said  of  the  pink  and 
purple  nymph  ladies  you  paint  on 
yellow  lawns." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  I  was  trying  to  make  him  like 
them,  and  said,  c  there  's  royal  purple 
for  you,  father,'  and  he  said,  l  yes,  but 
not  enough  fine  linen  ! ' : 

I  laughed.  "  Witty  daughter  of  a 
wittier  father ! " 

"  Why  did  n't  you  put  it  in  Latin  ?  " 
she  queried. 

I  ignored  this.  "  You  know  I  think 
you  really  agree  with  your  father.  You 
do  n't  like  my  pictures  either." 

"  Not  your  portrait  of  Mrs.  Van 
Tinkleton.  It  took  too  long  to  paint !  " 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  And   the   one  of  Mrs.  Pankgor  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that,  1  loathe  !  There  was 
never  a  ball  big  enough  to  warrant  that 
dress  of  hers.  She  might  as  well  be  a 
living  picture  and  be  done  with  it.  My 
only  hope  is  you  '11  paint  her  black  and 
blue  too  !  " 

"  And  when  I  paint  you  ?  " 

"  No  thank  you  !  I  like  to  look  at 
impressionist  pictures  of  other  people, 
but  for  my  own  portrait  I  '11  either  wear 
a  high  necked  gown  and  a  veil,  or  go 
elsewhere  !  " 

"  I  don't  believe  you  mean  what  you 
say." 

"  You  see  you  are  pessimistic.  You 
don't  believe  a  word  I  say." 

"  There  's  one  word  I  'm  only  too 
rsady  to  believe." 

"  It 's  a  good  thing  to  know.  Per- 
haps some  day  when  I  'm  very  desper- 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

ate,  I  '11  say  it  !  Meanwhile  tell  me 
about  your  pictures  this  afternoon  — 
how  many  have  you  in  the  exhibition  ?  " 

"  Three."  I  would  have  given  any- 
thing to  change  the  conversation,  but 
couldn't  see  my  way  to. 

"  All  portraits  of  ladies  ?  "  she  asked 
with  a  horrid  little  smile,  lifting  her 
eyebrows. 

"  No,  only  two." 

"  Oh,  only  two  !  Mrs.  Van  Tinkle- 
ton,  and ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Pankgor  —  I  finished  her 
yesterday." 

"  In  how  many  sittings  did  you  finish 
Mrs.  Pankgor  ?  " 

"  In  six." 

"  How  many  of  these  six  did  it  take 
for  Mrs.  Pankgor  to  finish  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  yet  finished  by  Mrs. 
Pankgor !  " 

114 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

11  Oh,  then  I  suppose  there  will  be 
more  sittings." 

"  I  thought  we  were  not  going  to 
discuss  Mrs.  Pankgor  any  more." 

"  I  can't  help  it  !  I  can't  resist  the 
temptation,  you  are  so  deliciously  easv 
to  tease  !  " 

"  But  is  it  fair  to  Mrs.  Pankgor  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  She  'd  be  delighted  to 
have  her  name  connected  with  any 
one's,  and  besides  it  would  flatter  her  to 
death  to  think  I  am  jealous  of  her." 

"  Are  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am." 

"  Mrs.  Turnbull  —  "I  began,  pas- 
sionately. 

"  Because  she  can  afford  to  go  to  a 
much  better  dressmaker  than  I  can." 

"  That 's  ridiculous  !  "  I  said,  angry 
at  her  turning  the  conversation  in  that 
way. 

"5 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  Not  at  all.  She  's  a  splendid  lay 
figure.  Any  model  from  Paris  is  sure 
to  fit  her,  so  would  the  waists  on  a  wax 
dummy  in  a  hair-dresser's,  but  that 's 
not  our  business,  is  it !  You  know  how 
conspicuous  she  always  makes  herself, 
so  she  gets  her  gowns  at  half  price  in 
consideration  of  the  advertisement  she 
gives  !  " 

"  I  don't  follow  you  very  well,"  I 
murmured. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  men  are  never 
sympathetic  about  women's  dress  !  " 

"  That 's  an  old  indictment,  but  did 
you  ever  consider  for  a  moment  how 
absolutely  stony  women  are  about  a 
man's  more  or  less  necessary  equip- 
ment !  Suppose  we  never  wanted  you 
to  change  the  shape  of  your  hats  !  " 

She  laughed.     "  It 's   true,   I    don't 
like  changes  in  men." 
116 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

The  cool  little  maid  entered. 

"  The  brougham  is  at  the  door, 
madam." 

We  rose. 

"To  go  to  the  exhibition,"  Mrs. 
Turnbull  said.  "  I  must  get  ready  ;  it 
won't  take  me  five  minutes ;  will  you 
wait  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  will  wait  for  you,  so  long  as  I 
live." 

"  We  may  take  long,  but  not  a  man's 
lifetime,  to  put  on  our  hat  and  gloves." 

"  It  may  seem  a  lifetime  to  the  man. 
But  it  wasn't  for  that  I  meant  I  will 
wait." 

"  No  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  You  are  tremendously  fascinating  ! 
I  don't  wonder  all  the  women  want 
you  to  paint  them  !  " 


117 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

"  You  are  making  fun  of  me,"  I 
said,  feeling  very  uncomfortable. 

"  Not  at  all  "  —  she  moved  toward 
the  hall  —  "  and  in  five  minutes  I  '11  be 
yours  —  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon." 

"  No  longer  ?  "  I  cried  as  she  passed 
through  the  curtains. 

"  I  lunch  alone  to-morrow  at  one. 
My  sister-in-law  has  the  grip,  thank 
goodness  !  —  I  mean  I  'm  sorry  to  say  !  " 
And  I  heard  her  humming  "  You  can't 
play  in  our  yard  "  as  she  mounted  the 
stairs. 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

IV. 

"  I  thought  I  was  very  early,"  I  said, 
surprised  to  find  Mrs.  Turnbull  down- 
stairs waiting  for  me,  and  before  one. 

"  You  are,"  she  answered,  shaking 
my  hand  cordially,  "  but  I  thought  we 
would  n't  lose  any  time  over  beginning 
luncheon  because  that  sister-in-law  of 
mine  is  better  after  all  and  threatens  to 
come  over." 

"  What  if  she  does  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  must  know,  I  did 
a  very  foolish  thing  to  get  out  of  lunch- 
ing with  her.  I  said  I  was  having 
company  at  home,  and  when  she  asked 
who,  I  said,  in  desperation,  a  kinder- 
garten meeting  ! " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well !  She  promised  she'd  try 
and  come  in  early  in  the  afternoon !  " 
119 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

"  Oh  ! " 

u  Yes,  you  '11  acknowledge,  it  will 
be  hard  to  explain  where  you  come  into 
a  kindergarten." 

Luncheon  was  announced. 

"  Why  does  your  sister  dislike  me  ?  " 

"  She  's  afraid  I  'm  going  to  marry 
you  ! " 

"  I  wish  I  were  afraid  of  that." 

"  Do  n't  wish  any  such  thing  !  I 
have  it,  too,  and  it 's  a  dreadful  feel- 
ing." 

I  spilled  my  grape  fruit  au  kirsche 
into  my  lap. 

"  Do  n't  play  with  me,"  I  begged 
rather  foolishly  ;  "  are  you  in  earnest  ?  " 

"  Yes,  seriously,"  she  answered,  with 
a  very  opposite  look  from  seriousness  in 
her  eyes.  "  Seriously,  it  almost  amounts 
to  a  mania  with  me,  that  I  shall  some 
time  marry  you."  I  opened  my  lips  to 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

speak.  "  Although,"  she  continued, 
oddly  enough,  "it  is  true  that  if  you 
asked  me  to-day  to  be  your  wife,  I 
should  say  no,  of  course,  with  grateful 
regret." 

I  decided  not  to  speak  at  that 
moment.  After  a  long  pause,  during 
which  she  eat  with  apparently  the 
keenest  satisfaction,  I  finally  asked  her 
why  ? 

The  maid  came  in,  and  we  spoke  of 
the  peas. 

"  It  is  n't  fair  !  It  is  n't  fair  !  "  I 
burst  out  the  moment  we  were  alone 
again. 

"  What  is  n't  fair  ?  "  she  asked,  pre- 
tending great  surprise  and  curiosity. 

"  The  way  you  have  of  lifting  me  up 
almost  as  high  as  the  heavens  and  then 
dropping  me  —  way,  way  down,  all  of  a 
sudden  ! " 

121 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  Dear  me,  is  n't  the  wine  good  ? " 
she  asked. 

"  Of  course  !  " 

"  Did  you  want  a  cocktail  first  ? 
How  stupid  of  me,  I  forgot." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  not  a  slave  to  cocktails, 
thank  you." 

"  Then  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  —  I  'm  sorry  I  ex- 
pressed myself  as  I  did." 

"  You  are  angry  because  I  said  I  felt 
I  should  marry  you  some  time  !  " 

I  gave  her  only  one  look,  but  I  am 
sure  it  bled !  Then  1  said,  "  I  think  if  we 
ever  were  married,  you  would  not  turn 
up  at  the  church  just  to  tease  me,  but 
would  be  waiting  for  me  with  another 
minister  at  the  door  of  your  home." 

"  I  certainly  should  prefer  a  home 
wedding,"  she  murmured,  which  hardly 
seemed  to  me  to  the  point. 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  Suppose  we  change  the  conversa- 
tion," she  said,  "as  we  do  n't  agree." 

"  By  George,  you  are  the  most  tan- 
talizing woman  ! " 

"  Listen  to  me — something  has  gone 
wrong  with  you — whom  are  you  paint- 


ing now 


"  Mrs.  Nooton.  She  came  and  gave 
me  the  order.  I  could  n't  refuse." 

"  You  poor  fellow ;  Jane,"  as  the 
maid  entered,  "  fill  Mr.  Bowies'  glass. 
Really  if  I  had  known  I  would  have 
been  more  sympathetic.  What  will 
you  do  with  her  nose  ?  " 

"  I  shall  flatter  it." 

"  Heavens  !  I  thought  you  were 
going  to  szy  flatten  it,  and  I  was  about 
to  wager  with  you,  there  was  a  case 
where  you  could  n't  get  ahead  of 
nature  !  Of  course  you  will  paint  her 
in  profile,  the  left  side — even  an  Im- 
123 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

pressionist  would  hesitate  I  think  to 
reproduce  the  right !  It 's  the  right  eye 
that  does  it,  you  know  !  All  her  mar- 
ried life  she  's  kept  that  eye  on  her  hus- 
band, no  matter  what  she  's  been  doing 
herself,  and  this  is  the  awful  result. 
I'd  hate  to  see  her  husband  as  that  eye 
sees  him  !  Would  n't  you  ?  " 

"  What  has  Mrs.  Nooton  done  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  She  's  ashamed 
of  her  own  father  and  mother,  because 
she 's  married  to  Nooton,  and  never 
once  has  anyone  seen  either  of  them  at 
her  house.  No,  I  thank  you  !  that 
sort  of  a  person  does  n't  interest  me, 
and  I  am  surprised  that  you  should  take 
so  much  pleasure  in  painting  her." 

"  But  I  do  n't." 

"  I  'm  really  very  sorry  if  my  little 
tete-d-tete  luncheon  interrupted  your  sit- 
tings." 

124 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  But  it  did  n't." 

"  I  've  never  seen  one  eye  without 
the  other,  but,  of  course,  if  you  're 
painting  her  profile — the  left  side — 
why,  that  eye  alone  may  be  very  fasci- 
nating !  " 

"  How  absurd  you  are  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  've  known  much  plainer 
women  than  she  turn  men's  heads." 

"  If  I  dared  I  should  think  you  were 
jealous  of  her." 

"  Oh  !  that 's  too  funny  !  " 

"  Well,  it 's  odd  you  never  like  any- 
one I  paint." 

"  That's  not  true.  I  loved  your  sitter 
of  last  month." 

"My  aunt!      Oh,  yes." 

"  One  of  the  most  charming  women 
I  ever  met." 

"  But  not  young." 


125 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  one  of  those 
men  who  discuss  women's  ages." 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  one  of  those 
women  who  are  afraid  to." 

"  Certainly  not  !  "  she  said,  some- 
what emphatically,  and  added,  I  thought 
unnecessarily,  "  I  am  thirty-one." 

"  Then  I  was  born  the  same  year  as 
yourself.  I  volunteered  in  '64." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  and  that  makes 
you  five  years  my  junior." 

"  How  in  the  world  —  ?  " 

"  A  woman  at  my  age  is  always  five 
years  older  than  a  man  the  same." 

"  Yes,  but  a  woman  is  always  about 
five  years  younger  than  her  actual  age." 

«  True." 

"  Then  if  my  age  makes   you  five 
years  older  than  I,  your  own  age  makes 
you  still  five  years  younger,  so  we  come 
out  the  same  after  all." 
126 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  I  never  could  understand  arith- 
metic," she  said,  stirring  her  coffee 
around  three  times  one  way,  exactly, 
then  three  times  the  other,  "  but  after 
going  through  that  elaborate  detail,  I 
think  you  at  least  might  have  made  me 
out  five  years  younger  than  you." 

"  I  will  begin  all  over  again." 

"  No!  No  !  Smoke  instead  !  "  and 
she  moved  some  cigarettes  toward  me. 

The  maid  spoke  to  her  softly.  I 
had  a  wretched  presentiment. 

"  No,  do  n't  smoke !  "  she  said  dram- 
atically. 

"  Your  sister-in-law  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  she  's  come." 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

V. 

"It's  very  odd,"  she  said,  "but  I 
sort  of  thought  you  would  come  in  to- 
day." 

I  could  n't  tell  if  she  were  satirical  or 
not,  but  considering  this  was  my  fifth 
consecutive  daily  visit,  I  was  suspicious. 

"  It  was  merely  an  accident,"  I 
equivocated,  and  made  her  angry. 

"  Now,  I  want  you  to  understand," 
she  said,  "  that  I  started  out  in  a  pleas- 
ant humor  this  afternoon,  and  that  if 
I  'm  disagreeable  it 's  because  you  were 
horrid  your  very  first  speech." 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  be,"  I  said  very 
meekly,  "  but  to  be  honest,  I  heard  you 
were  with  the  Lindsays  at  the  opera  last 
night,  and  Jack  Piffleton  sat  beside  you 
the  whole  evening  —  never  moved  once, 
no  matter  who  came  into  the  box." 
128 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  Do  you  think  you  've  chosen  a  very 
kind  way  of  showing  your  sym- 
pathy ?  " 

"  What  sympathy  ?  " 

"  Now,  do  n't  pretend  to  be  dense, 
for  that  you  are  n't  if  you  are  an  im- 
pressionist." 

"  If  you  did  n't  want  him  by  you  the 
entire  evening  you  could  have  rid  your- 
self of  him  somehow." 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  how  ?  Tell 
me,  so  that  in  another  such  emergency 
I  may  be  prepared." 

"  You  could  have  talked  to  people 
across  him  or  behind  him,  which  hint 
he  would  probably  have  taken ;  or  if 
the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  you 
could  have  devoted  yourself  to  the 
opera." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  did  do. 
I  'm  sure  I  never  before  heard  so  much 
129 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

of  an  opera  at  a  single  representation  ! 
It  was  Die  Gotterdamerung,  and  at  the 
end  I  felt  I  knew  the  whole  thing  as 
well  as  I  did  Faust !  " 

"  I  do  n't  believe  you,"  I  said  em- 
phatically. 

"  You  never  believe  me,  you  know," 
she  smilingly  answered. 

"  You  always  listen  to  the  operas." 

"  Always  to  one  act  one  evening,  and 
choose  a  different  act  each  time,  so  that 
by  the  end  of  the  season  I  am  almost 
sure  to  have  heard  every  opera  through 
once  !  " 

"  That 's  absurd  !  You  are  well 
known  for  your  love  and  knowledge  of 
music.  Why  pretend  ignorance  ?  " 

"  I  've  heard  it  was   so  becoming  !  " 

"  Nonsense  !  " 

"  Really  !  Do  you  appreciate  that 
your  last  three  replies  to  me  have  been ; 
130 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

4 1  do  n't  believe  you,'  l  That 's  absurd/ 
and  c  Nonsense  ! '  I  shall  become 
angry  !  " 

"  I  love  you  angry  !  " 

"  Then  I  won't  be." 

"  But,  come,  acknowledge  you  are  a 
deeply  dyed  Wagnerite." 

"  I  hope  I  do  n't  look  like  Aubrey 
Beardsley's  picture  of  them  in  the  Yel- 
low Book." 

"  Nobody  looks  like  Aubrey  Beards- 
ley's  pictures  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  do  n't  know.  Wait  till  you 
finish  Mrs.  Nooton's  portrait.  If  it 's 
a  good  likeness,  you  may  find  yourself 
classed  among  the  degenerates  ?  " 

"  I  have  half  a  mind  to  behave  like 
Whistler  and  Mrs.  Mackay  and  cut  up 
Mrs.  Nooton's  portrait." 

"  I  would  n't  bother.  Leave  that  to 
the  critics  ;  they  '11  do  it  for  you.  Be- 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

sides,    do    you    think    you    paint    well 
enough  to  behave  like  Whistler  ? " 

"  I  knew  you  did  n't  like  my 
work  ! " 

"  That  speech  of  mine  was  not  kind," 
she  said,  actually  blushing.  "  I  'm  sorry 
for  it,  and  to  punish  myself  I  shall  tell 
you  honestly  about  my  opinion  of  your 
pictures." 

I  was  frightened,  but  begged  her 
go  on. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  the  truth  is  I  like 
you  personally  so  very  much,  I  don't  dare 
trust  myself  to  criticize  your  painting.  If 
there  were  faults  all  over  it,  like  adver- 
tisements on  the  rocks  up  the  Hudson, 
I  shouldn't  see  them." 

I  almost  gasped  for  breath  with  which 
to  speak  quickly  before  she  could  inter- 
rupt, but  she  realized  my  intention  and 
spoke  first. 

132 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  No,"  she  urged,  "  don't.  What  I 
said  is  quite  true,  but  it  wasn't  easy  for 
me  to  tell  it  you,  and  if  you  took  ad- 
vantage of  it,  I'd  never  forgive  you  !  " 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked,  not  altogether 
understanding  her. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  should  feel  as  if 
I'd  hinted, —  er  —  led  you  on." 

I  actually  laughed.  This  seemed  so 
ridiculous. 

"  I  don't  think  you  read  my  thoughts 
very  well,"  she  suggested,  "  or  else  I 
disguise  them  very  successfully.  I've 
sometimes  thought  I  would  make  a  good 
actress.  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  That  depends.  What  sort  of  an 
actress  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course,  a  leading  one,  a  star, 
or  something  of  that  sort." 

"  But  emotional,  I  mean,  or  comedy, 
or  a  song  and  dance  artiste  ?  " 
i33 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

u  Oh,  either  or  all.  Amateurs,  you 
know,  never  limit  themselves  !  " 
"  Then  you  are  not  serious  ?  " 
"  Of  course  not !  Music-struck  and 
book-struck,  and  picture-struck,  I  may 
be,  but  not  stage-struck  —  except  to  go 
to  the  theater.  That  I  confess  I  do 
enjoy.  But  one  thing  I  am  sure  of,  if 
I  were  an  actress  I  should  insist  on 
playing  the  naughty  ladies.  They 
always  have  the  best  parts.  I  don't 
know  why  it  is,  but  good  ladies  on  the 
stage  are  usually  so  dull,  the  naughty 
ladies  never.  I  wonder  why  ?  Have 
you  any  idea  ?  Why  is  it  that  the 
naughty  one  is  always  witty  and  bright 
and  perfectly  dressed  —  up  to  the  last 
act,  and  beautiful,  always  beautiful, 
even  up  to  the  end  ;  and  the  poor,  good 
one,  is  sing-songy  usually,  and  a  little 
old — just  a  little,  say  under  the  chin — 
'34 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

and  wears  dresses  buttoned  up  the  back, 
or  ugly  hats,  or  cheaper  clothes,  or 
something  different.  It  isn't  so  in  real 
life.  Now,  is  it  ?  Bad  women  over- 
dress themselves  almost  surely,  and  as 
for  absolute  choice  give  me  a  good 
woman  always.  How  do  you  feel 
about  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  I  rang  in,  "  give  me  a  good 
woman  for  always,  will  you,"  and  I 
held  out  my  hand. 

She  waved  it  aside,  with  a  sweet 
whimsical  look  that  saved  my  feelings. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  "  I  know 
there  are  some  men  who  prefer  common 
law  wives ! " 

"  Oh,  no,  it  is  the  common  law 
wives  who  prefer  them  !  " 

"  Do  you  believe  in  actors  and  act- 
resses marrying  ? " 

"  I  believe   in  everybody  marrying." 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

"  What  would  all  the  old  maids  say 
to  that  ? " 

"  Thank  you!     Probably." 

"  And  the  old  bachelors  ?  " 

"  Go  to  the  d 1 !  " 

"  Really ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  if 
honestly  surprised.  "  Why  do  you 
make  that  difference  between  them  ?  " 

"  The  old  bachelors  bear  a  grudge 
against  the  ceremony,  because  they  've 
all  been  refused  by  the  right  woman ; 
but  the  old  maids  have  only  themselves 
to  blame  if  they  rejected  the  right  man, 
and  so  they  are  more  lenient  all  round. 
I  wonder  if  /  shall  be  an  old  bachelor  ?  " 

"  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  think  ? "  I  asked, 
trying  to  be  cunning  with  a  woman, 
and  of  course  failing. 

"  How  can  I  tell?     Why  do  n't  you 
go  to  a  clairvoyant  ?  " 
136 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  Are   you    superstitious  ?  "  I   asked. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  answered.  "  Of 
course  there  a  few  things  like  sitting 
thirteen  at  a  table  that  I  never  do ; 
not  that  I  am  afraid,  only  I  do  n't  be- 
lieve in  running  any  unnecessary  risk! 
It  might  come  true." 

"  What  ?  That  I  shall  be  a  bache- 
lor ?  " 

"  Oh,  are  you  still  thinking  of  that  ? 
It  will  be  your  own  fault  if  you  are." 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked,  hopefully. 

"  I  know  at  least  two  girls  who  'd 
jump  at  you." 

"Pretty?" 

"  No — not  exactly ;  still  the  man 
who  paints  Mrs.  Nooton  would  have 
no  right  to  object." 

"  Young  ?  " 

"  No — at  least  not  very — that  is — 
well,  no." 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 
i 

"  Slender  ? " 

"  One  is." 

"  And  the  other,  large  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  thought  I  'd  give  you  a 
choice." 

"  Thank  you  !  Have  they  an  appre- 
ciation of  art  ? " 

44  No,  but  one  has  enough  money  to 
buy  all  the  pictures  you  '11  ever  paint. 
The  other  is  poor  but  very  healthy ; 
has  all  the  domestic  virtues." 

"And  you  think  I  have  a  chance 
with  them  ?  " 

"  I  don  't  want  to  flatter  you,  but  I 
believe  if  you  hurry  you  have.  It  will 
be  a  case  of  first  come  first  served." 

"  And  you  advise  ?  " 

The  joke  had  been  carried  too  far, 
and  we  were  both  of  us  "  on  edge." 

"I  advise  you,  either  or  both,"  she 
said. 

138 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  Thank  you  again.  You  have  paid 
me  a  great  compliment."  I  rose.  So 
did  she,  as  she  spoke. 

"It  was  unintentional.    I  apologize." 

"I  accept  your  apology."      I  bowed. 

"  How  dare  you!"  she  said,  flushing, 
"  how  dare  you  take  an  apology  from 
me !  You  should  have  said  the  fault 
was  all  yours." 

"It  is."  I  started  to  go,  then  I  turned 
around  impulsively.  "  I  am  quite  un- 
settled," I  said,  "and  I  haven't  the 
slightest  idea  what  it 's  all  about,"  and 
I  looked  at  her  dolefully. 

"  Neither  have  I,"  she  answered  with 
lips  that  trembled — from  laughter  or 
tears,  I  do  n't  know  which,  or  perhaps 
half  and  half.  At  that  moment  another 
visitor  was  announced. 

"  I  meant  to  have  left  word  I  was 
not  in,"  she  murmured,  as  I  passed  her; 


S.IX    CONVERSATIONS 

and  I  wrote  "  tomorrow  at  four"  on  a 
card,  and  taking  a  bunch  of  flowers  out 
of  a  vase  in  the  hall  sent  them  in  to 
her  with  the  pasteboard  doubled  round 
them. 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

VI. 

I  was  late,  but  it  was  unavoidable. 
Somebody  else's  business  detained  me 
—  I  would  n't  have  allowed  my  own  to 
— and  consequently  I  felt  somewhat 
nervous  as  I  was  ushered  in.  It  was 
pouring  outside,  too,  and  that  lowered 
my  spirits  a  little.  She  greeted  me 
charmingly,  too  charmingly  my  instinct 
told  me,  and  her  first  words  proved  it 
right.  She  couldn't  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  tease. 

"  How  good  of  you  to  come,  after 
all,"  she  said.  "  I'm  so  glad  !  When 
I  saw  it  was  raining  —  a  little  —  (it 
was  really  c  cats  and  dogs ')  I  was 
afraid  you  would  n't  venture  out !  I  sup- 
pose you  waited  to  see  if  it  would  n't 
clear  up." 

"  I  knew  you  could  n't  resist  the 
141 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

temptation  to  tease  me,"  was  my  smil- 
ing reply,  for  I  felt  this  time  I  had  the 
best  of  her. 

"  Victory  for  you ,"  she  acknowledged, 
pushing  towards  me  my  favorite  chair, 
"  and  we  are  both  in  a  good  humor  to- 
day, are  n't  we  ? " 

"  I  am  always  in  a  good  humor  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "    So  am  I,"  she  answered. 

"  Well,  then,  that 's  settled,"  and  I 
sank  into  the  chair.  "  The  next  ques- 
tion is  how  long  are  we  to  remain  so  ?" 

"  I  do  n't  like  to  discuss  periods  of 
time  with  you.  I  notice  you  only  have 
one  series  of  adverbs,  such  as  'always,' 
1  forever,'  and  l  as  long  as  I  live.'  " 

"  And  you  dislike  them  ?  " 

"  I  do  n't  say  that ;  it  depends  —  but 
they  are  a  little  extreme,  do  n't  you 
think  so  ?  " 

"  Do  you  realize  that  I  have  called 
142 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

on  you  every  day  this  week,  and  is  n't 
that  a  little  extreme  ?  This  is  the 
sixth  visit." 

"  I  do  n't  know  if  you  are  right  in 
your  calculation  or  not,  but  I  '11  ask  my 
sister-in-law.  She  's  sure  to  have  kept 
count." 

"  But  how  will  she  know  ?  " 
"  I  do  n't  know  how.  She  has 
strange  and,  I  believe,  occult  means  of 
finding  out  everything.  She  is  much 
more  of  an  authority  on  my  own  affairs 
than  I  am  !  For  one  thing,  she  has  a 
window  in  sight  of  which  my  front  door 
naively  is.  Of  course  she  never 
watches,  but  she  sits  in  that  window, 
and  naturally  she  does  n't  shut  her  eyes. 
Then  she  is  very  neighborly,  never 
misses  a  day  coming  over,  and  each  one 
of  her  questions  is  sure  to  hit  some  nail 
on  the  head.  Verifies  her  eyes  through 


SIX   CONVERSATIONS 

her  ears,  as  it  were.  Do  n't  think  I 
mean  she  's  prying,  because  she  is  n't. 
She's  a  dear  soul,  and  a  born  mother, 
that 's  all,  and  not  having  any  children, 
she  has  to  take  care  of  anything  that 
comes  her  way,  even  a  widowed  sister- 
in-law  very  near  her  own  age." 

"  If  you  need  any  one  to  take  care  of 
you,"  I  began. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  !  "  she  answered.  "  I 
am  tired  to  death  of  it ;  I  want  to  take 
care  of  somebody  myself  for  a  little 
while ! " 

"  Just  the  opportunity  I  'm  looking 
for,"  I  said.  "  Why  not  try  me?" 

"  You  flatter  my  capabilities." 

"  You  think  I  would  be  a  difficult 
subject  to  handle?" 

"  Yes,"  she  laughed.     "  I  am  afraid 
it  would  be  a  case  of  playing  with  fire 
and  burning  one's  fingers!" 
144 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

"  I  wish  I  did  know  your  real  opinion 
of  me ! "  I  sighed. 

"  Is  n't  that  a  very  courageous  wish  ? " 
she  suggested. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  put  it  this  way.  I 
wish  you  could  know  my  opinion  of 
you!" 

"  But  I  do  know  it." 

"  I  've  never  told  you." 

"  Have  n't  you  ?  Oh  !  however,  other 
people  have." 

"  Who  ? " 

"Let  me  see.  .  .  My  sister-in- 
law  for  one." 

«  Hang !  "  I  stopped. 

"  How  is  it  out,"  she  asked. 
"Warm?" 

I  laughed,  and  broke  up  my  anger. 

"  Not  so  warm  as  indoors  just  at  this 

moment,"    I    said.      Then    a    brilliant 

idea  came  to  me,  and  I  added  :  "  I  '11 

'45 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

tell  you  what  I  'm  going  to  do  !  I  'm 
going  to  ask  your  sister-in-law  to  let 
me  paint  her  portrait  !  " 

"  Tom  Bowles,  do  you  care  as  much 
for  me  as  all  that !  " 

"  Do  you  think  she  '11  like  the  idea  ?  " 

"  Like  !  She  '11  be  flattered  to  death. 
Her  personal  appearance  is  her  one 
weak  point !  " 

"  Of  course  I  shall  expect  you  to 
come  with  her  and  chaperone  us  during 
the  sittings." 

"  Oh  ! " 

"  And  you  must  give  me  points  to 
help  me  win  her  over  to  my  side." 

"  Your  side  of  what  ?  " 

"  As  if  you  did  n't  understand  me  !  " 

"  Let 's  hope  she  won't  understand 
you  !  Of  course  you  won't  pretend  to 
paint  her  life-size,  it  would  be  too  aw- 
ful, and  take  too  much  paint !  And  by 
146 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

all  means  give  her  a  waist.  That  will 
please  her  and  be  becoming  at  the  same 
time.  And  make  her  wear  a  bonnet. 
Strings  will  supply  a  chin,  and,  all  jest- 
ing aside,  what 's  a  woman  without 
one  !  But  she  won't  wear  gloves,  I 
warn  you  of  that  now ;  and  if  you  are 
wise  you  '11  have  the  left  hand  in  evi- 
dence, and  paint  in  conspicuously  the 
diamond  ring  on  the  third  ringer.  She 
bought  it  herself,  but  she  never  takes  it 
off,  and  always  sighs  twice  after  any 
one  has  admired  it !  It  really  is  a 
lovely  ring,  and  I  believe  in  another 
year  or  so  she  '11  believe  absolutely  in  it 
herself.  It  would  n't  be  a  bad  thing  if  a 
good  many  of  us  had  her  imagination." 

"  Do  n't  you  think  the  real  thing  is 
better  than  the  imaginary  ?  " 

u  Sometimes." 

"  Mrs.  Turnbull,  why  do  you  hold 
M7 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

me  off  so  ?  "  As  I  spoke  I  vowed  to 
myself  "  now  or  never." 

"  c  Hold  you  off! '  "  and  she  laughed, 
nervously,  "  what  a  remark.  I  do  n't 
hold  you  in  any  way  !  " 

"  I  can 't,  I  won't  jest  any  more 
about  it,"  I  said,  "  and  if  you  are  the 
woman  I  love  you  '11  listen  to  me." 

"  I  '11  listen  to  you,"  she  answered, 
with  a  final  flicker  of  her  teasing 
humor,  "  whether  I  am  the  lady  you 
mention  or  not." 

"  You  know,"  I  continued,  paying 
no  attention  to  what  she  had  said,  "  a 
busy  man  does  not  go  to  see  a  woman 
every  day  in  the  week  simply  to  kill 
time  !  You  know  a  man  does  not  try 
to  propose  to  a  woman  on  an  average  of 
twice  an  afternoon  for  a  week  unless  he 
means  it  !  You  know  if  a  man  can  't 
take  his  eyes  from  your  face  that  he 
148 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

loves  you,  and  you  have  never  seen  my 
eyes  wander.  You  know,  you  must, 
that  uncertainty  even  for  an  alumnus 
half-back  is  terrible.  I  've  been  on  tip- 
toe night  and  day  all  week ;  I  've  been 
embracing  the  empty  air,  and  kissing 
the  unsubstantial  sunshine  and  moon- 
light !  My  patience  is  all  gone,  but  my 
love  remains  immovable.  Why  have 
you  let  me  get  so  far  toward  asking  you 
the  one  leading  question  in  Cupid's 
catechism,  and  then  every  time  pulled 
me  up  short  —  breathless  and  angry  ? 
Why  ? " 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  she  said  earnestly, 
interrupting  me  before  I  could  say 
more.  "  The  truth  is,  you  've  been  so 
nervous  about  it,  so  timid,  suggesting 
everything,  and  saying  nothing,  beating 
around  the  bush,  and  leading  up  the 
point  by  easy  stages,  that  by  the  time 
149 


SIX    CONVERSATIONS 

you  were  ready  to  say  the  word  I 
was  so  nervous  myself  and  fidgety,  I 
was  actually  afraid  !  A  sort  of  stage 
fright  it  was.  I  didn't  dare  let  you 
speak.  If  you  had  ever  asked  me 
straight  out  I  do  n't  doubt  1  'd  have  ac- 
cepted you  long  ago."  She  paused  only 
for  breath,  but  I  did  n't  wait. 

"  Will  you  marry  me  ?  "  I  asked  al- 
most with  a  gasp. 

"  Yes." 

And  that  was  all  we  said  for  a  long, 
long  time. 


PRINTED  BY  R.  R.  DONNELLEY 
AND  SONS  COMPANY  AT  THE 
LAKESIDE  PRESS.CHICAGO,  ILL. 


000115515     9 


